How she missed the illusion of being loved.
That joyful sensation of walking on air,
while accepting the volatile nature of change
hope became worn, too thin to share.
Uninvited, pale shadows appeared to form
Like ice in the bite of a thoughtful stare
love became weak and fed upon silence
differences grew, recognized everywhere
She hid disappointment in watery eyes,
pretended her interests, lay elsewhere.
Soft sighs often worn as a weary disguise
until one day he left and her heart lay bare.
Love is just an illusion she wept bitterly,
a start full of promise, collision mid-air.
But once there was bliss, a lingering kiss.
She just had to close her eyes, to be there
Ann Beard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/being-loved-4/
