The Romantic Hopeaholic

The Romantic Hopeaholic “I am an alcoholic” he said, standing proudly In the circle of those already declared; Each sitting with their memories and present thoughts, Conscious of the strength he showed, and humility. No more a hidden life of excusing lies, Told to himself and concerned and loving friends, With neither really believing them, yet giving them Credence, and the authority of daily rehearsal. “I am an alcoholic” and with the declaration Comes freedom and clearer vision of himself, As he really is, and of his love affair With the seductive friend, who stole his reason. A thousand thoughts fill my mind as I Pick over the recent history of you and Me; wherein there is pain and self-deception, Foolish hope and artful rationalisation of rejection. I seize upon a chance remark and feed And water it with my hopes and dreams; Until it blossoms as some fragrant rose, With soft damask petals, and hidden thorns. Gullible, I tell myself I understand you, and Find cogent reason to excuse what others see As plain bad behaviour, uncalled for yet deliberate, A wall against my unwanted presence, and love. “I am a romantic hopeaholic”, and with that Chance insight into the seduction of optimism I find some freedom from the intrusion of Your memory into my life, and find peace.