I don't know what it is about these men, or whatever, with a plethora of problems, that make me so interested. Am I looking for the empathy that I exude? Perhaps, and it's more than likely the case. His mystery, his newness: all of it was, and remains, attractive. It was short lived, thank goodness, but I still had hope. Still wanted more. I still wanted to have that someone that I cannot have. I'm not even sure who this is about anymore. Is it about you, the rationalizing and calculating one, or is it him, the abstract and reserved one? I want to say him, but this heart tells me it is a lie. It is a lie to say anything is over. It is a lie to say I forgot. It's even a lie to say that I forgave. I'm sorry, I just won't lie like that. It's foreign, and what do I gain from it? This introspection pains me much more than I thought it would have, but still- no surprise. There's hardly a surprise to anything anymore- except for one.
My ray of sunlight: he separates the haze that you create sometimes. He separates pain for joy. He separates the good from the bad. He separates you that I loved from you that I abhor.
Yet, haze envelops apathetically, and I live in grey. I live in grey, hoping that the warmer and familiar hues of you return, even for a while.
No comments:
Post a Comment