Almost two months flown by and it still bothers me. I find every little wonder bestowed there reminds me all the more how it was anything but truthfulness, let alone real. Part of me laughs; happily free of it and thankful to know the suspicion of deception was all too real. Part of me sighs; it is difficult to forget the feeling of happy hope, even when it has long since wilted and died. Part of me snarls; angry for those who believe and will (may?) be hurt for it, even if after illusory delight; even as it is acknowledged only projection of anticipated painfulness. (shrug)
It is only wafting thoughts; transient things that arrive on occasion (more and more rarely, at that), linger a moment as I remind myself of many things over and beyond the above three. That which throbs the worst has nothing to do with this moment or that one, but a much older thing; a resonating echo of ancient howls that has not quite stilled.
In every slammed door
Echos of the ancient keep
Razed and left behind
There are no remedies but those we create, in the end; mine are less effective than I’d like, but, for lack of any other to call upon, serve as they may.