The journey was long,
but I, ignorant to its failure before inception.
trudged through murky waters,
meandered, lost, in dense woods,
and risked my sanity every footstep.
It started with lies,
bound in thousands of pages
of fairy tales being retold
as if they were authentic.
So I believed it all, each word kissed
so sweetly that the bitterness of reality
never hit my lips, until this moment.
Quixotic me believed a shadowed hand
would be stable enough to grasp
as my balance became rattled,
but even the earth knows
that the sun burns out eventually,
leaving the world a barren wasteland.
My naivete and blindness created
a paradox of hope and sensibility,
a promise of happiness
that was quickly realized into melancholy,
and a confidence stricken into fear.
The closer to death I became,
tilting at windmills.
