eidolon

shifting mists
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Ezoic
2004-07-23 20:39:23 (UTC)

I'm not blind...

When you hurt me... do you do it intentionally? Do you see
me and figure it isn't important... that I don't matter?
Maybe I matter... maybe it's just not enough for you to
concern yourself with. You say you miss me... but I am
plagued with doubt. I don't think you do. I think you've
found a replacement and I hope she... or they... make you happy.

Maybe you don't even realize it... sometimes I hope this...
sometimes I pray this. But there is no hope in the
thought... it's just a little whisper of a possibility my
heart speaks... not wanting to believe that you're really
gone. Because in my mind I know you are too smart to not
realize what it is you have done... what you do. Which
means you either hurt me purposefully or you do it without
that being the goal and simply disregard that my pain is one
of the effects of your actions... or inaction as the case
may be.

I don't speak of pleasure and pain... and I do not speak as
pain as pleasure. We both are aware of this side of
things... we both know the value. I speak of another...
deeper pain... in my heart... in my psyche.

I don't even know why I write this. When you read it... if
you ever get around to reading it... I doubt you'll care
enough for it to matter. I doubt you'll accept that it is
to you... written about you. Denial... it's such a very
powerful tool isn't it?

My circle has closed in again... not of my own choice... not
because I let it unless you call the passivity of my
acceptance a choice. I do not feel I had a choice in this
though... fighting... raging against the ever growing pain?
It would solve nothing... simply cause me to strike out
and hurt others... it's something I try very hard not to do
anymore. And so my circle closes tighter... the walls
coming closer... and there is no one left who can reach me.
There are no more windows... no doors.

There is only the surrounding presence of seamless
thick stone walls... seemingly unbreachable... in which
I've become entombed.


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