Fiery glances, loving kisses, warm embraces with so much more meaning than hugs shared by lovers.In exchange for what? Forced affection, dull eyes and sandpaper skin?

I dream. Dreams of pale yellow hair glistening under individual rays of warm sunlight, eyes closed contently, head rested upon my thigh. Tracing kisses upon his furrowed brow, whilst his thumbprint lingers on the palm of my hand. Wind blowing my hair as to brush it against his forehead. I squeeze his fingers in my hand and sigh, I feel myself glow with happiness; he’s still mine.

Yet here now I sit, tied in ropes made of self doubt, uncertainty and paths wrongly chosen; tied to a man who’s lips are thin and misleading, the dirt under his fingernails scraped from the deception of his false identity and his brow raised in self proclaimed superiority. Forcing me to cower in the shadows of my own self loathing; oh, how I miss my blond haired, bright eyed Apollo.