I have no recourse, but to hear the break,
As personality comes, soon or late,
No matter the error trust and Love make,
Reality is the stronghold of fate.

Romanticism drowns in cracks of time,
And sanity prevails like a wart;
It is perhaps no fault of yours or mine,
Breaks just happen to the thinking sort.

Age gaps and family and wounds and sense
Creep up like four ganks in an online game;
So then, we weep with a lack of pretence;
Because we suddenly know who to blame.

And all we want from what’s left of this hope
Is a strong support and some length of rope.