I use to be a, lesser version of myself.
And in this, no longer existing, version,
the person I have become was always relevant, just not present.
The qualities and characteristics of lesser I, let us call thee, Helena,
over powered me. They sucked me dry: like the sun does to a puddle, like a
baby to it's pacifier, like Macbeth to the prophecy.
Oh, Macbeth, for I once was like you.
Yes, it is true.
I use to care, deeply, for all that benefited me.
I would lack to think of anyone who was not I.
And, I do not know why.
I use to, consecutively, numerously, wound the heart that cared
for me deeply.
I could think of an infinate amount of excuses, yet, there is none.
Helena cannot be justified.
For she is the soul reasoning behind: the slight amount of emptyness I will always contain.
I will not go on without addressing the one, and only one, aspect
of Helena for which I do miss.
Her ability to love and be loved.
She would open up.
She would let in. Her heart was gold
and pure, like the finest medalian one would ever come accross.
Her heart was full of life.
Her eyes were full of love.
But, her mind was full of lust.
Which resulted in a: thick, thick dust.
Internal growth was a must.
I was Helena and Helena was I.
And because of her, I made loved ones cry.
But now, I am me, and you are she.
Now I am me, not full, but fuller, and I
owe it all to thought.
Oh, thought, I could never repay thee,
For all that you have done for me.
For thought, you see, is the sculptor,
who can create: the person you want to be.
For I am me and you are she.