Begging for love on any day, is a day wasted on a dream that promises to quickly morph into a flesh-eating nightmare. Only prayers can save you from the sickness of dependency, but words are difficult to pronounce in a frenzied state.
I give up, then turn to the comfort of votive candles, and sage offerings.
To love someone comes naturally, but expressing that love does not.
Brick by brick, I lay a monument on my delicate Aquarius. I kill him, to move past him. I let the ripples come, and erase an unimpressive history.
A door represents many things. It is an entrance, and opening. It is an exit, a way out. It is an option. It taunts, as much as it invites. I’ve not the focus to look at a door right now. Or, perhaps, that is all I can do.