Betrayal

It is deep. And shallow.
This emoticon-laden world of who did what.
Who shook me to the bones and lurched wildly into the wide open maw
of my heart?
Who opened, who closed.
But it is all in the imaginings. The mind playing tricks.
The telling of stories. Repeat.
This months past dreary-eyed remindering of something that was
Real
Promised
and Believed.

But is no longer.
Things pass, moments
Truths so absolute they are blinding become faint shadows
Of nothingness and dust
We run hard towards something and retreat
Fearful of our own boldness, suddenly remembering ourselves
And the laundry list of whatever it is we believe to be important.
But really is made up of should, can't, and if only

And sometimes I pretend to know what is real and true
But really I understand that I know nothing but the contents of
myself
That all the wishes and wonderings are simple and extravagant imaginings
Filtered through a tainted mirror
And more the stuff of stardust
Than they are of what is.

Any betrayal exists only by my own creation.