We create the problem,
By assuming things,
Which didn’t exist.
Believing in things that never happened,
Loving things that were never there…

Time romanticizes the past,
Believing in things,
Making things up,
Which never actually was  there.
Rather what we desire them to be.

Time allows for the imagination,
To run,
Run wild,
Into that which we desire most.

It is painful to feel,
Feel the hurt,
Feel the pain,
We make believe.

Thinking it is something,
Something else,
Something completely different,
That is,
Something desired.

It was not of that nature.

Such chaos,
Yet such beauty,
The beauty of life,
Of living,
Of humanity.

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