He was an illusion.
Stretched and refitted,
Ignored and cross examined,
But no more than an illusion.
Half made up,
An imagined virtue of my own.
Counterfeited to fulfill
A distraction to an obscure riddle
Of the heart.
He was a victim of impatience,
Lured by my hunger, and
Discarded like the joker in solitaire.
He was the piece of the puzzle
I thought I was missing,
But realized it never did fit.
He was the four leaf clover
You spent hours to find,
But in the end,
had to tear a leaf to make four.

 
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