It’s a bit morbid to hold on to the past. I always expect the smell of corpses and filthy clothing to waft past me when I start feeling sorry for myself, or start missing the wrong things or people. That … Continue reading
Every time I dream of him, he gets more and more real. This is the fourth time that I remember that I knew it was him, and now I don’t even know that he’s any different from all the others that populate my imagination.
He’s ruining me for real life, for the run of the mill nice guys, for the assholes.
I’ve always been terrified of seeing his face, because once I did, it would be IT. Ka-splash. Camphor falls. End of story. So why do I feel bad that he doesn’t exist?
I’m a bit lost, a bit adrift
Straying along the galaxy
Sleep deprived a little
Working overtime. Yes.
Wondering about loss and pain
and what they mean, really.
How very unfair it is that
some few can drive daggers into hearts &
some have and some lose, but all hurt
What does it matter anyhow?
Nothing is to stay, and maybe just maybe neruda was too full of pain and bitterness to see:
He had her once. He’ll never forget. And for those moments she was only his. You can’t control or be sure of what will happen. Or what happened before. And if ownership is a concept real, then to have had is to have, because you’ll never lose your past unless you choose to.
Or you forget.