When you go through life wearing white gloves, all you see is the dirt from all the places you've touched.
Dirt from soiled relationships, dirt from many tattered emotions, dirt from ill befallen memories.

Always dirt…

Their break up was as mysterious as it was without warning. It swept like a storm harassing a pond that
knew no wave. Although two weeks have past, the feeling remained reinforced by the memories. And each
corner did memory betray him. Time is a legion of sorts. If you allow it to heal on it own it leaves no
scar. But should you agitate it with scratches you remain marred for life, forever scratching it, and it
forever itching.

The silence of the empty room swallowed all thought and there was he left chasing the forgiveness of his
sin.... ignorance.

Countless words of plea, begging for understanding not compromise, words that collect feelings not direct
them. Sometimes the truth changes color depending on the light that's shed. And although her light shone,
it was too dim for him to be guided to the glades. He could not see her; all that was there to him was the
silhouette, the outline, the contours, and the curvations. Never the true essence that made her who
she was, all that was there for him was only who he wished her to be. For his eyes that's all there was
to be seen. He had taken the shadow to mold his rendition. And that architect was a master with
gloved hands. His gloved fingertips could not truly feel the grasp of life; his fingers could not describe
life's texture only its moderation. Moderation and anticipation of what he thought should be and not
what he truly desired.

Forgiveness and ignorance are fledglings of the same nest, akin, hand in hand. What we ignore is easier to
forgive. All our life we seek the mate of our dreams, never realizing that dreams are best left so the
sleeping. Wishes are dreams not yet chanced by fate. For scores do we chase after the mythical mate,
knowing what we feel but not realizing what touches us. We search for someone completely flawless, instead
of someone that completes you flawlessly.

Chasing rainbows...

And when we acquire ornamental mate we are willing to forsake all rather than be hurled back into that abyss
of desolation and loneliness. Love is a matter of possession, a passage to wondrous life. All he could surmount was its impressions. So there in the abyss, were his convictions of seeing shadows not objects. Blinded for seeing his mate as an attainment and not as a part of his being. He chased rainbows laden with shimmering aspirations of
perfection whilst perfection was undefined, corrupted and coerced by sensations rather than feelings.

Rainbows that always seem to disappear when you close with, always in view never attained

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