The Wind in My Hair

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The wind in my hair, latte in my hand, deserted streets,
6am briefings
at the Westbury Hotel.
I was somewhere I had never been before.
Moments of passion so easily shared.
And so the journey began.
When fears of truth were hidden
and wishful dreams were spoken
believing in the destiny of greatness.
Not knowing the delusion that would
shatter belief and transform lives.

The truth isn’t always beauty but the hunger for it is.
The art of containment
like a magicians illusion to make a perception
become the conclusion.
It was a battlefield I had not excepted
perpetuated by madness.
Containment of deception
delivered like a Shakespearean play.
As time moved on and each untruth realized
a sadness cooled the heart.
And when the truth was known
the bond of trust was broken.

The wind in my hair, latte in my hand, deserted streets,
6am briefing
At the Westbury Hotel
I was somewhere I had never been before.
Moments of passion so easily shared.
And so the journey continues.

Struggling for containment
knowing the game was up.
The deception realized
the madness exposed.
Now misguided reckless anger
Ink to paper, an avalanche of betrayal.
Watching the emotions
the shallow breathe of life.
All the hours of the day
haunted by self-doubt.

Two forces so strong
but just one truth
Yesterdays fiber now just a memory

So many things I never knew, foolishly stumbling in
Memories of passion so easily shared.
Wind in my hair, latte in my hand, deserted streets,
6am briefings at the Westbury hotel.
The story ended just as it had begun
in a flash of a moment.