A storm before meant a day inside. But now i can only imagine rain drenched hair and dancing in puddles with my wife. You don’t know what you had until it’s gone…..
Lazy romance is worthless words and actions that are meaningless. The sender is a believer that the receiver is fooled the romance is real and thoughtful. But the rouse can only last as long as her own internal fuse. The truth of the lazy attempts become reality when the going gets tough, but the tough have processed to move on. The scar tissue on her heart knitted by the needle of my skillful hand. A hand trained over time in half heartedly loving her believing that she is feeling more love than the effort I am putting into it. What a realization of how long she stayed around during a season of drought. Thirsting for love from a well that’s been dry for way too long. How can I expect her to go to the same dry well for love after continual trips returning with parched lips. The spring I’ve been holding back has been dammed shut with brick and mortar. But brick becomes dust under the pressure of losing her forever. The love flows out onto the floor because she’s taken her bucket elsewhere for what looks like more. Laced with arsenic, and silent killers the water she’s receiving is deceiving. I am the untrustable dry well though. I have no say into where to find clean water, because I was producing poison once of my own. Even when fresh pure love returns and fills my reservoir it’s too little too late. The wife who longed for this specific well has gone and won’t take the signals to come back. It just looks like bait now, like a trick or a scam. But only if she knew that the dam holding it all back was broken that the water is pure once more.