Every now and then, she pays him a reality check.
Under normal circumstances, he would have tried to correct.
He would have made himself scarce,
discreet,
and regret,
ever soldiering this together,
all a vain attempt.
Cold and calculating,
just a minor defect.
Simple and straight,
she starves trust to death.
Lonely roads, the sun's heat,
she dreads.
Despite this fear,
she never lets it hover,
the shade of a friend.
His ego,
melted and reassembled like candle wax.
ivy's scent caught him in a web.
The blind man has a menial,
a very unimportant niche.
Cash the reality cheque,
before it bounces right back.