Half-Cropped Photos

I see the half-cropped images of sweaty nights behind the curtains of heat propelled by the rhythms of club lights; how intriguing that it is mutually shared in secret when eyes are thought to be oblivious to their stare.

I see the diary of moments recorded behind a frame of smiles; and how wonderful it once was to have shared the memories of dancing in the twilight of deafening noises.

I see the flags of mutual interests, of the unprecedented desire to cheer on a stranger land;

but now it all makes sense.

Tell me not of his influence;

tell me not of his words;

but do tell me that it is over

so that I may trust this lost cause once more.

It is all unknown - a mystery beneath the breath of summer heat;

a blindness given to myself for staring, improperly, at the shine of her sun.

I gave it the benefit of the doubt so I stared directly at the soul being hopeful that it spoke to me of the truths behind its darkest intent.

Tell me not of his existence (because I already know);

and tell me not of his every move (because I could care less);

but do tell me that it is over (and be truthful)

so that I may trust this lost cause once more.