Hill Fog

fog-1208290_1920(photo credit: PixaBay)

For love is a fog that ends,

with the first taste of reality.

it is tiny water droplets of broken dreams,

masked frustrations,

and inherited dependency.

its ice crystals of fairy tales from childhood,

suspended in air.

For love is not a pumpkin chariot,

Lizard door men,

a goose driver,

a princess dress,

or a pair of glass slippers.

Love is not a Prince,

saddling his horse,

in search of his princess,

in search of whom the glass slipper should fit.

Love is a fog,

once we share our first kiss,

enjoy small,

yet perfect dates,

and maybe,

if we are lucky,

a couple months of goodness.


and fulfillment.

But then,

the taste of reality will befall us,

and soon,

and then we will realize that,

it was nothing but a day dream,

and now that the night is here,

and the fog will lift.

And we will be a glossary of dreams.

once lived,

and now broken,

never to be as they were.

But like an upslope fog,

a hill fog,

like Stratus,

they shall wonder,

what happens next?


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