I, the culprit.

she, a master escape artist-
that longs to forget her art.

I've engaged too often for the spectacle to retain it's old significant splendor. No more laughter, stolen glances or storytimes at school lunches. The pain of loosing beloveds has become a dull reality. Inevitable, monotonous, and hardening. After the truth is defined and unleashed, I can oft see their confidence get a bit hazy around the edges. Their confused eyes whisper, was I not good enough? 

And I am bothered,
because I don't have an answer,
and they are hurting.