I was supposed to be beautiful. Something was lost to me in the vast whiteness that surprised me. Like a star lost to the light of the sun, innocence and optemism disappeared in the presence of real love. And once the sun set on that love the star could not be recovered among the millions of others. Innocence becomes experience becomes chastity and an unability to love again. An unwillingness to be hopeful for the future becomes rooted in an emotional attatchment to the past, lonesome for what its lost.