Fine Line

It's so strange seeing the fine line that separates what things once were, and what things are now. It's like that past, everything before the line, is in black and white. Those imagines of you catching me as I ran to you after so long, your warm embrace and that smell of your cologne, are suddenly now slightly blurred, in black and white, like an old 1950's movie. The ones we call classic, when at the time simply seemed a part of everyday life. In black and white, I see what we once were. The love that we once shared. And now, in neon blinding lights, my reality is being shown to me. This strange, unfamiliar reality that I must now get used to and somehow understand. The light is so blinding, so bright. It's hurting my eyes and burning up the last slivers of my heart and soul. How do I deal with this? The fine line is like a blade, hurting me, slowly ripping through my skin. Making me cry out in pain and making me feel weak. All I can see is the bloodshed, the emotion spilling out, threatening to destroy me completely.