The overwhelming pressure of that romantic illusion. Fate hardly matters. You adapt to believe there is an absolute one for you.

Sharing poems & thoughts, one redacted word at a time.
The overwhelming pressure of that romantic illusion. Fate hardly matters. You adapt to believe there is an absolute one for you.

I reflect at the people under the spell of illusion, they start the day confident and speak with self-assurance but have no power.

This rosy mortal illusion continued to be a consolation, for I knew that we had better purpose than this.
