To build up your hopes every time knowing they will only be dashed,
There's nothing poetic about it really. Just foolishness. The worst thing is that it stings even more because I build myself up so high before every fall.
Its like when you realize you're dreaming, and before you can take control and make it lucid your own excitement awakens you.
The hot days of summer drone on like the cicadas at dusk, The cool nights trickle bye, Each moment, Sweet like honeysuckle nectar, every minute we trudge through, Good enough to die for.
The time will come when it will all make sense, and the picture will be clearer. Till then sit tight, breathe deep and keep your limbs inside the ride.