I remember looking at him through adoring eyes,
the adoration only a young child can have,
ignorant to the pain and weight of the world;
he was a god, the mold and model of my life.

I held his hand all throughout the store that day;
here is my father, I proudly thought to myself,
surely the most important and wisest of men;
he was my hero, the man I most wanted to be.

He pushed the shopping cart faster and faster,
and I laughed with sheer unadulterated glee;
the laughter of an unbroken heart, ignorant of betrayal;
he was my father, who could do no wrong.

And then he left.

My world reeled and shook in those days,
everything seemed to be completely wrong;
no no, you don't understand, he hasn't left,
he merely went to the store and is coming back.

But he didn't come back.

When a hero dies in the comics or the movies,
they become a martyr, their strength really lives on;
and their spirit becomes a stronger part of you,
your belief is solidified into your very soul.

But that is not so when your hero betrays you,
the entire world is foreign, and it is a frightening time;
your definition of love is rewritten, it somehow feels false,
colors are suddenly less vivid. The flowers smell bittersweet.

It takes a long time to learn to love someone again,
you're always keeping them a distance away from you;
how can you give of the deepest part of your heart
when it's contaminated by betrayal, hurt and fear?

And then I gave my heart to you.