The Cottage is my mind

Water cry's from the shower head, as I question the never ending vines that surround the lost cottage. Is infatuation my greatest desire or my greatest mind killer? Am I an equal in her eyes? Or, am I way over head, my mind trapped in the cottage and it's thorny vines? Is my dream one sided, and embellished by a long line of eventful, yet never ending time? Everything, held in the cottage, is like a Fedex package, waiting to be unwrapped. It's like Pandora's box, has good intentions, however, it's forever lost. It's a crime I was born a woman, but maybe it's meant to be that way! At the end of the day, that woman is the last thing on my mind. My body is a box trying to molt and break away from the never ending music, which haunts and drives me. It follows and I simply cannot let go, although, my drive is through hell, rather than a park. I still choose to follow where my heart guides me towards her kind eyes. To put it simply, I just cry. It seems life is figment of our imaginations, hopes are lost and found. Only partially, have I let myself down, but you do as you do to you. "Possibly, I am living a lie", I think to myself, as water cry's and falls from my eye. Mine is fine, but if it were to be hers it would truly be a crime. Hopefully, I don't hang by a thread or a delicate strings pearls, while her eyes are lost, lost farther and deeper beyond the cottage and my eyes lost gray in a haze and lovely delusion, while summer nights pass by.