And as her gaze met mine
I saw the stars fall from her eyes
And the sun
Go as dim as the hope she held in her heart.
But she was still
The most you will receive from me
Is an answer of friendship.
A hand to guide you through a jaded train of thought.
Where strangers from a past that is desired to be forgotten will haunt you.
But in that train of thought you have my hand, held together by the frailest of nerves.
Any simple mistake will lose me, but any effort will be taken into consideration.
The comedy in this, is that I feel the gestation of betrayal.
I feel the breaking of my heart, for the question is not if, but when.
My nerves whisper it to me, but I keep their noises at a low.
So I that I may listen to an ambivalent promise of truth, instead of saving myself for those worthy.