I built a temple,
dedicated to you,
inside the deepest recesses of my heart.
Its walls are high,
all the better to hoard the wealth inside,
for myself.
I tend to its fragile gardens daily,
watering the unsure wildflowers,
willing them to blossom.
The temple's flooring tilts a bit,
its surface as unsteady as the love you give.
I walk softly upon its rotten boards,
whispering soothing words to myself.
I am its only priestess.
Bent, yet unbroken.
Pessimistic, yet insatiably in love,
in need.
Everyday I lift my head,
and hope that my prayers are answered.
And yet today,
as I looked to the sky,
I noticed that these fortress walls are crumbling.
Stone by stone,
a little at a time.
A cold wind is blowing through,
bringing with it the scent of truth.
A revolution is coming.
A change of belief, a reckoning.
These walls won't hold much longer,
and I must make preparations.
I must ready myself for your fall from grace.
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