I was crestfallen by the falling of my fallen love. She was my muse, misused, and abused and though I loved her deeply, my advances were rebuffed as fantasy, as she found comfort in her taboo ecstasy. Her suitors were amused as she perused, used, and sought to choose one who could love her evermore. But her pursuits were for naught. Forever clever in her endeavor she would never sever her ties to her abusers, as she truly believed her place was with them. Whether rain or snow she would weather the weather. As if in stasis ,she would pop, puff and pull until the effects took her mind to higher places- tired of occupying such low spaces- on the losing end of the rat races- Ever the competitor she would steal bases- Just to balance the odds she faces. For love or lust or faith or trust she had ever the hot hand. Taking hit after hit until finally she’d bust. But for the unrequited this was of little consequence be it lack of judgement or common sense, I’d run to her aid eager to steal a fleeting look All the while hoping she’d take a page from my book But her life was more of a short story though beautiful and true, she always seemed in a hurry. So, when the final page turned and she had reached her conclusion my captive heart flashed a wistful smile as my mind broke free of its delusion.