Faked out yet again.
And it seems the farther away from the beginning I get, the farther I am from that innocence. That which I've long since lost.
And long for. It's like it mistakenly got in the trash tossed. Never to return as I grow older. And the whole damn world is getting colder.
Smouldering ideals. Cry on my own should.
Atlas boulder. That's heavy a load sir. But I'm holding out, hoping I'm wrong. That it's not.
And the fleeting feelings of idealism and romanticism are dulled down to the point that I no longer believe in the power of love.
It used to feel stronger and last longer and last longer. No, no longer.
And it's getting so very discouraging. So much so that I'm starting to believe in cynicism.
I want to believe so badly that there is truth and love is real.
