Irony, The Recurring Theme

It is often in the busy wilderness, that you find a spot that pulsates with the 'quiet'.

It is at that despondent lonely spot, where even at the lowest point, you have never been more alive! Its there that you hear the loudest, see the clearest and breathe the deepest.

Because It Isn't.

"Goldfish do it in the privacy of their bowls", Ella croons,
'Falling in love' seems to be the tune
She swooned lovesick
Moping another woe of having been parted.
Don't hurry with your condolences,
Love departed, but hardly unrequited.
So they live their lives,
Separated by timezones,
And degrees of passion felt
Conjoined in the fact that they are
Souls redeemed, soulmates found,
Enough to make the most jaded, cruelest
To waver, and melt.
Because, other than a minor inconvenience,
Of timed phone calls,
And planned online trysts,
All seemed rosy.
Hues of youth's indiscretions.
And determined promises.
Pity though that they remain,
A fragment of imagination.
Am much of a cynic to be so naive,
To have not dawned upon the realisation,
Love so perfect,
And easy,
Without its own travails,
Is no love at all.

Irony

Before a breakthrough, a breakdown seems necessary ...