How do the possibilities remain impossible?
There is so much light and love in the beginning.
The inferno consumed into glowing embers.
Who would have thought that this monkey wrench thrown into the gears of the machine could become mangled so quickly?
That monkey wrench seemed so invincible, that machine so vulnerable.
These decisions get wrapped like a stone around your heart tossed into the depths, falling away from the surface, falling away from the light and the warmth of the sun.
In the end there is no blame, only responsibility.
When this righteous anger is past due and spoils to turn to bitterness, it will make complete sense to turn your back on the beauty of what could be.
Your strength turned against you so the fight is within you and the struggle is without you.
The failures of idealism piled up like dead bodies and the reasons are excuses dressed as wisdom and wisdom is a realists eulogy written for idealists.