A Piece In An Illusionists Game

A Piece In An Illusionists Game

A willow tree is hiding, shading me in leaves while a dreamcatcher is in view, haunting my every thought until the only ghost that I see anymore is you. The sky is turning gray. There is nothing left to say now so we stand in awkward, lonely silence while a whippoorwill sings a mock tune.

Fragmental pieces of a picture, broken, shattered like mosaic, rainbow glass. I took the best of you and you left all the rest of me behind uncovered, cold, and dirty.

Shades are drawn. Summer twilight hour, a quarter till ten. We are an illusion. Just connective energy circling in the air working together to create a masterpiece. We constantly look for something; anything to matter to us to try to fill voids. We repeat patterns and routines, missing the same people and speaking the same words in the same exact conversations that we had the day before.

I've been here before. I've dreamt this before. I've seen you before. Missed you, and loved you before today and will continue to tomorrow. I'll rip away the very best of you while you callously tear away all the rest of me. Because you pull out a piece of humanity and truth. We both take away something real...and living. Real and haunting...

We remember what's real and sink into the freshness of a forgotten feeling before the illusion comes back to play. Before the fear comes back. Before my courage is drained...

But while the illusion lies, reality speaks. I'd rather speak and feel truth in a mess reality then live as a transparent piece in an illusionists game.