Morning of Mourning
How can artsy and realistic individuals hope to mix? What to
do, what to say now that she has grown into the role of
somebody I despise? It's not her, it's who she thinks she
should be that I cannot stand.
How to connect with somebody devoid of passion when passion
is all that fuels my life?
How to salvage what is left when I'm not quite sure what IS
I did not anticipate this change. Some things, one reasons,
will remain untouched forever. But all things, one learns,
It makes me sad. It's not poetic - if any creativity is
inspired, it will be out of anger. I get unduly angry about
these things and lash out, and it's better that it's between
blue lines than to her face. Because it helps nothing. It
only serves to distance us further. Every incident disturbs
the fault and widens the chasm a little bit more, until we're
standing on opposite summits looking across and wondering how
in hell . . ?
There needs to remain some sort of bridge, rickety and old as
it may be, or it's all lost. No. Old, but not rickety.
History is all we have to stand on now and it must be solid.
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