In love's maelstrom, you are both the crippling siren and the storm that approaches; it's lightning bringing attention to what hides in dark corners. Your light is there in fits like flickering fluorescent bulbs showing ones imperfections in random mirrors. I flinch at what I see while thunders' power moves through me.

Our covenant has been broken. When our tempers flare, they show love to be anything but unconditional. Where once I had hoped to create happy memories with you, I now relive a moments blunder where our future was severed. Where is the silver lining in all of this? What have you taught me sweetheart? I don the proverbial detective's hat and aspire to find the answer. However, sorrow gives way to regret, regret gives way to anger and anger's footsteps always trample clues.

I know now that it was me who failed you - my flaws got in the way of my true character. So much time has passed that I can no longer draw your portrait from memory. What replaces your image goes beyond what can be contained - you have become to me an ideal. I've placed you on a pedestal and all who come after, will be held up in comparison. Your impression has misshapen me, your memory skews my vision. When I see a new love, I see you first. No hope of new companionship can endure. For, you act as the glass that magnifies their flaws and I fear they will always fall short of the standard you've set so far out of reach...

As I was reading, I found myself suddenly in the library with you! Nicely written. I especially like the build up where you give some history of previous events that tie in nicely to your story. Thanks for sharing.

Bias creates a smog I can't see through. A bowed head in a white room doesn't hide much from a world inhabited by an enlightened populous. They wake from a sleep and look upon a world under a spell, who's leaders set in motion perils, where tanks rove to catch mischief that pens start. In a place unfamiliar, I try to conquer all but fall myself on a sword of my own manufacture. Sordid were my own thoughts, fueled by a fault line of fears. Pull me from the mass grave of regrets I've uncovered.