To those souls in despair because of the auburn haired mistress known as love. From above the coated eyes hides a chance, romance in retrospect of anguish. Sullen mirage below the facade of perfection; expectation of ones mind in complete sync. Blame not yourself for the sudden lapse in time, but not the other who sheltered you in sublime. Sentiments collapse upon the wooden frame, the same that holds smiles and satire. Moving pictures juxtapose jocular jargon yet corrode into the cement walls guarding from binding again. Is it not an act of spite one fights with plight not truth? The heart is full of holes, so don't suppose anything will remain quenched deep within the adapted homogeneous souls. Weep for the memories you hold are too strong but long for happiness. No matter how much one tries love dies. Punch the face of blame till it bleeds, since regret is an enemy without resolve. Solve ones issues through acceptance of what is, not what could have been. It is then essential for ambrosia, repose, languish these dwindling signs of affection. Look up towards the rising horizon, and forget the fated separation marked behind the line.Ones life only last for scarce moments, it then only makes sense to continue walking. To those who saw fragments drift part and are still desperately trying to piece them together, give up, live on, and be happy. I promise, you will be alright.