Timothy

Jack's Twisted Kingdom
2010-08-11 17:25:23 (UTC)

Fuck the Friend Zone.

Chaos Reigns, as it is wont to do. such is the nature of
things.

Friend of mine lands into the friend zone with this lovely
tart of a girl, and she shreds him apart like so much
chattle. I know the feeling well. I'm positively in love
with a girl, well, more lust, than love, but the percolating
ambiance is there, and yet I know, nothing will come to pass.

It's the romantic in me that wont let go, and I see it, that
pain reflected within the mirror, see it cresting the hill,
and flowing with it's tendrils ever closer. I get it, and I
can see everything. It's sad when you know that the person
for whom you have such affections for doesn't see that you
could be perfect for each other, complimentary, even better
together than alone. Or, so I believe to be the case.

I never had the conversation with her, and I wasn't planning
on having it, not anytime soon, but it seems as though my
championing of my friends lament evidently stoked some,
peripheral response in her brain, and she chided me as
though I was some child behaving badly. That she assumed it
was about her leads me to wonder what else she might imagine
should I make some friendly gesture, is everything to be
questioned? I don't know. I'm rather disappointed, but that
happens you see when you imagine one thing, and reality is
so stark as to show you the folly of your ways.

But, so be it. Evidently, I'm in the friend zone with her, I
knew that before, and had no issue with it, but now,
suddenly, I do, if only because I was never given the chance
to voice my affection, robbed of some, glimmer of hope.

The romantic within screams. Rages in it's cage, as the
chains lock themselves anew.

The beast however, simply nods, laughing again, twirling the
key between his fingers.

And so, I carry on, a mere bump in the road, her image even
now flickers and fades from memory of lust and desire, she
becomes shadow, like all others, a slow burning ember,
perhaps to flare to life again, albiet unlikely.
Imperfection within a beauty is rare, not to what I look
for, I could have gone a year and a day without so much as a
taste of her lips, and still been hungry for them. The heart
wants, what the heart wants, and nothing stands in it's way,
except of course, the slow withering of a soul.

Without some, tender affection, I am again left to wilt. alas.

poor yorick


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