The String.

From ‘love actually’ to ‘notting hill’,

To ‘pretty women’ to me ‘before you’,

Love is caressed with a soft touch and happy endings.

Its danced and laughed for, its rejoiced in the name of happily ever after,

Its cherished and held, it’s the good and bad they say,

In sickness and in health,

An eternal vow to your one and only.

Is everyone blessed with the ability I say,

Is everyone allowed to feel this feeling?

It is promised, or is it ever owned?

For one to grasp such magnificence seems outrageous,

To live and breathe another for ever and ever.

Seems unreachable.

But is the string that’s stopping you,

The string that yearns for repair,

A tool that is lost and never found,

One that can never compare,

Compare to a reality in which you are trapped,

A reality of cynicality, brutality.

A ghastly wound that never quite healed,

One that prevents the true reality,

The reality in which you can comprehend,

The tool that is found and kept,

The string that is repaired.

The unreachable finally reached, the broken string finally spared.