colours (lxvi)
gold,
or a
lucrative currency,
dollars, are needed
for just about anything.
income was something i took for granted until a
stranger i loved for many years conned me into
hurling everything i knew into an oblivion. and yet, i
endure, like the insane capacity for love seems so
determined to do. the heart grows wise to cons. . . .but
what complexity that newfound wisdom must but
somehow navigate when, having lost so much—the
time, most especially, given to such an elaborate hoax,
but also there is the luxury of stability, in income and
mental focus—would that wisdom rather honed such
things, cured anxiety, could offer back even a small portion of what had been lost to all the marauders, to all
of the masqueraders and their ilk. and perhaps it does,
after all, but i am yet impatient...but still, to find some
one that restores in you, in me, this faith, is not a curse,
no matter how magnificent the failures one has endured.
but how easy life seemed when i was blinded by deceit.
to wake up from such a nightmare and look love in the
(virtual) eye and say to get from here to there, to get
from me to us. and what of the memories of being
fooled, of being the fool? foolishness is also too easy.
how repulsive the bliss of ignorance. and how cruelly
incongruous this new alternative, this reality, which
i choose and do prefer with all of my exhausted heart!
