There was a time when living behind the white picket fence meant peace and prosperity. Seems that Mirage has slowly shown itself to be filled with useless bantering and un-winnable arguments. I peer over my white fence at greener pastures with a strong sense of temptation. Wondering if I’ll find true love in the open fields. Life has a way of turning expectations into moments of irony. So I stand fast in fear of reopening wounds that will forever be held together by metaphoric stitches. Healing processes have a beginning and I’m clueless on where to start. So offering my heart to another person seems to be counter productive. Confined to my idealistic white fence I continue to mow and weed my brown spotted lawn that I call my relationship.