The Midst

Love stories are scattered all around, and without a second thought, another sound... I break. They were perfect—just like they will be perfect. There are beautiful pieces coming together, and others broken apart (but not lost). Not forgotten, waiting, moving, longing. A tragedy is taking place but does not compare to True Love's testimony and sacrifice. Questions surge and emotions run. Something absolute is here. But great contention, as well. As usual. A voice comes down and enters without warning and hearts are ignoring every bit of it. An innocent lie is wafting around the abstracted tongues, the tactless ears. "You should have known." Today is not the end of truth, nor is it the beginning. How much pride will these hands hold? And why will they not let go or even open? There is an absence of  communication here. There is, instead, an unhealthy habit of finding a way around.