He knew he would never find the answer. He knew she would never tell him. He knew he would still futilely try and get her to give him the answer. It would never happen but what if she finally relented? Finally allowed him a glimpse of herself, a reason for why everything had happened. He knew she would never give away any part of herself.
The truth was for her a closely guarded secret, one she would never reveal if she revealed it the whole charade would collapse. She would be standing there in a room full of the shards of broken glass. Looking at her life and the wreckage she had caused. Her crown of thorns would be falling.
He wanted this to happen, hope was he had been left with, the hope that she would let slip the truth. The longer she waited, the greater his triumph would be.
I spend all my time wondering as I wander along the road of life. I make mistakes, I never truly learn from them. I hate the idea of love, but at the same time, I am a hopeless romantic.
I create my own myth in my head, reality never lives up to it. I then stand there alone and confused and wonder where it all went wrong. It never went wrong, it was never going there in the first place. I can not seem to read situations or people, I get it all confused.
This confusion building up and adding to the myriad of problems I see. I try and be a better person, but this just makes me feel used. Perhaps I was used, but I allowed it to happen to me as I built a myth in my head. How do I bring these myths down with destroying myself or those around me?
I can not. I turn and run, hide away and hope it will fix itself. It never does, and I end building another myth to allow myself to carry on, never fixing the root of the problem. The root will always find another way to grow anyway, so why to delve deep into my psyche and sort myself when I can build a new life, it may not be real, it may all come tumbling down, but just now it is all I have.
I hold on and start to lay the bricks.