April 12th, Year of Silence

If I do not complete things, they will finish me. Acceptance does not guarantee an absence of pain.

I didn’t enter this affair, or this mess, or this modern interpretation of a comical love as a dewy-eyed maiden. I could see how this, my truculent nature, would eventually be made to submit. Yet, I was still foolish enough to believe that, in time, I could conquer a heart than never fully exposed itself to me.

I am waiting and watching for you, I release into the wind. Then, I wait for a telepathic interchange that will never occur.

I am forlorn on a Monday evening, which is better than dejection on a Saturday evening. I suffer most when I adore Matthew best. He readies himself for the arms of his new lover, while I feel the emptiness of mine. And I hate her. And I should tear her limbs to form a line from him to me.

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April 12th, Year of Silence

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