I used to believe in love never leaving,

It'd stay through the season, endure any treason, 

Persist through all reason and always be pleasing.

But love is not that, at least not always

It can be pretty yes, but brutal in all ways,

it can burn the rest of you out, like acid in your veins.

It can be a balm for some pains,

but also like salt in an unhealed wound. 

I don't know the origin of that classic idiom;

'It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all'

I am relatively sure, that its originator had not in fact loved and lost after all.

Because who would take the pain of certainty over unknowing serenity?

I would rather have a hopeful bliss of ignorance of the futures eternity. 

I wonder is their anything more hopeless than surety?