Instinctive Intervention

I barged in, hurt and wounded.
The past that would not let go.
Your open embrace.
A fall back, a rebound, they say.
Instinctive, yet rightful, I say.

I struggled, dazed and puzzled.
Trying to find my way, the present was unclear.
Your guiding hand.
An infatuation, a recuperative symptom, they say.
An interlude, yet capable of being more, I say.

I stopped, moving no further.
The past holds too much, the future too little.
Your promises.
Another deception, like any other, they say.
An intervention, permanent, I say.