You were beautiful on the outside, but on the inside, you were…

The last stroke of my brush painted the soulful rendition of a fresh memory.   Beauty was evident in the emerald of her eyes; stranger than fiction and more mysterious than truth.

Their deceit could not be overwhelmed by interest, and the betrayal of inaccuracies caused the effect that would last a few short weeks – though a year ago would now be timed since the re-acquaintance of these two hollow souls.

And it was good, and it was magical.

I would not dare give proper rendition to the feeling of hate, for the image is untarnished in my heart – though the mind instills in me the bitterness of realizing truths; I dislike the feeling of being played for a fool.  But even then, I will not hate the memory of you.

My pen smiles at my favourite mistake – it was in the missing connection that I lost the sense of self, trying to discover something that was never there.

Words now empty, the actions of late were moved by lies and desires to stray away from something untraceable – like the memories made by the inner children within.

You were beautiful on the outside.  Inevitably followed by the eyes of testosterone that competed for your affection – and, like me, you played them for fools.

On the inside, you were….

Let the words flow like rain into my empty cup – filled halfway with hopes of oblivious intent.  How amnesia is sometimes desired throughout my insomnia.

And even when the visit is short, and when memories are re-gifted,  I shall stand my ground to be devoted to loving the memory of inner smiles – I will not give you the pleasure of hating you.

In silence, the distance will allow me the right to arrogance, bitterness faded, and dreams forgotten – ‘Tis all part of a bigger plan, a clearer reason.

Through your treason, your lack of passion, I learned to trust not to trust again.  Trust gone with the wind of your diffusion with indifference – but I will not hate you.

You were beautiful on the outside…but on the inside, you were….