I suppose I've always thought that time, promises, things done, reaffirmed over and over with sincere words, would culminate into something untouchable... that they would form the permanence I so desired. Apparently not. One could do so much and feel so much and still end up being just a footnote; summarized so briefly that it demeans all, cheapens all that I have ever committed my very soul to.
One could love, but it does not ensure one is also loved. So now I look upon the remains of my Walls, how it has been breached by not the strangers I so cautiously steer away, but from within.