Honesty Pants

I'm not entirely convinced our hearts were made to walk on high-wires.
The struggle of balance between illusion and reality.

I want to live transparently, honestly, passionately, gutsy, vulnerably.
But what happens when those who are easy to trust are not necessarily trustworthy?
We all play with fire with gasoline-drenched hands & gasoline-soaked hearts.
Gun powdered good intentions.
We all have our attractive faced vices.

So choose which walls you put up.
Place certain people behind them.
Allow certain people to go around.
And in.
Close.

I don't want to become calloused or apathetic about the hope hidden within heartbreak. No matter what, I want to choose to believe that hope is always there.

The diamond needle in the hate-infested haystack. Search, search, and search some more.

I don't want to become numb.
But I do want to forget.
And I think I am beginning to.

But when I realized you were forgetting too I wanted every memory back.
I almost wanted you back.
I will always want you to always remember. But our memories are fickle, just like our resolve.
A reflection of our relationship. If you could call it that -- on a good day. A generous day.
Because it is familiar in its dismembered face. Familiar in its indecisiveness.
Whatever this was, it could never make up its mind.
Maybe because our feelings were getting in the way.

Thought I had moved on.

Question:
So why is Sara Bareilles singing in my ear buds tonight?

Answer:
Gravity.

Wish I was not the one planted on the higher peak.
Wish you weren't in the valley.

What a steep mess I have made and continue to make with my unbridled misunderstanding of myself;
What an affront to the cross in my foolishness as I fail to
Let
You
Go.

Are these stars my jury,
this full moon my judge?
This silence,
this unfinished and unpunctuated sentence of