This whole idea,
This whole concept,
was merely an illusion from the
Beginning.
The illusion that played in my head;
Of you and I.
Together.
The illusion you placed in my head and toyed with;
Dancing in the spotlight yet we were in the crowd.
Watching.
We played everyone like fools,
Didn't we?
Tricking them into believing we were living a reality.
When autumn passes,
This illusion will wear off.
And I will confront the loneliness I have ignored for many months.
When the illusion wears off,
It will be gone.
Gone forever.
Gone like the falling leaves,
Gone like the summer breeze,
Gone like the happiness we once shared.
When the illusion passes,
Winter will embrace me into its seasonal depressive arms.
Accepting my new found loneliness.
This illusion is messing with my head;
Our head.
But, we still have ten days left,
Until the illusion wears off;
And then everyone will know.
That this was fake from the
Beginning.
That this illusion stood no chance.
And I was a fool;
Who thought differently.
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth
Poetry(n). A blend of homesickness, nostalgia and deep longing for something, especially one's home in Wales; an ode to the loss of our homeland, our language and our traditions. •I update this quite infrequently :(•
