I’m trying to write the pain away.
Disclaimer: Nothing is permanent. Best case scenario, death does us part. Worst case scenario, time does.
Confession: This is unfathomable. Obscene. Outrageous. I’m completely and utterly furious. I think of you every time I light up a cigarette. And every time I throw one away.
Introduction: It’s mildly amusing how I can’t seem to get a grip. This loss of control triggers scandalous levels of anxiety. And if you know me enough you’d know. You’d know the ebbs and flows of need, the fluctuations of extremities, you’d know how the moon changes, and how my heart seamlessly does.
Message: I am sorry you’re aching, like I am. I’m not sorry you’re aching like I am. If anything, let us always suffer in tandem and break free in sync. And may you only fly away when I need to breathe. And may I only run for the hills when you crave space.
Author’s Note: This dissection is not an attempt to reminisce by a manipulative selective memory. Said memory is not the villain. It’s all us. We did this. We created the beauty and demanded that it be preserved. It’s so cruel.
Conclusion: The worst part is that I never need to polish you because you come as you are. And you, as you are, elate me, and it burns my cheeks with shame that I let you. (But, and this is the secret of secrets, I like it.)
Acknowledgement: My ego is very grateful, my skin, my mind palace. Not my heart. My heart is bent out of shape and violent. How dare you?
References: You, cheeky bastard.