At the Battlelines of Love Waving A White Flag

"When our dance of love became frantic, I faltered, and you danced on my grave." *** "How did it come to this, my darling one? We may never know the answer, but with the rain in my eyes, you look so beautiful in red." *** Every direction only led further from you. Every decision was the wrong choice. My desperate pleas of reassurance were only distorted by the air between us. The harder I fought for you, the more quickly you slipped from my grasp. Every word was misunderstood. Every act was taken at face value. Every feeling was indiscernible to the naked eye. I only have five senses with which to love you, but they lied each time at the critical moment. The desire to be understood is what led to language, but my love for you could not be conveyed by sound or image. Tomorrow's historians will look back at our path of destruction and see only hieroglyphs of war between two sworn enemies. I never knew that the spark of hate was a slow avalanche of infinitesimal missteps that one day grows to kill you with what was once called love. That, with tears of confusion in her eyes, on cold and unfamiliar terrain, your lover, battle-dressed and mud-soaked, could hold a shaking knife to your throat, once so tenderly kissed, and scream down at you words of fury laced heavily with longing and pain. And all you can do is bleed out love and hope for one last chance to write her name in the snow.