The Myriad

 

That wasn't how it should’ve been.

Not the clear blue sky,

Nor the world of green.

Not the warmth of yellowing sun,

Nor the glee of homecoming birds.

 

That was like a blizzard

A fuzz of chill

A spout of abandon

A slate of white, meaningless lies.

 

That was like a sandstorm—

A blur of nothingness

A suffocating sourness

A sheet of ragged, unclear interpretations.

 

That was like volcanic eruption—

A blast of mortification

A tarnishing emotion

An envelope of lethal longing.

 

That wasn't any of what it could’ve been.

That didn’t carry conventional beauty.

 

That was a pathetic web of lies.

That was a pebble tossed into oblivion.

That was a waist deep pool of quicksand

A bottomless abyss, in symbolism.

 

That was not a clear definition.

That didn't encourage naked understanding.

That was a hazy silhouette—

A shadow hovering, nonetheless.

 

I didn't want that.

That was a stark contrast to what I had.

I loathed that.

 

But ’til it was snatched away,

I hadn't known I couldn't do without.

Because despite all of it's plight,

That was you loving me.