ek khala hai seenay mien..

So much water under /over, fuck, right through the bridge. Even the rock bed foundation seems to have disintegrated. Coarse, jagged remains… like sand burnt to cinders and left to severe what the fire couldn’t burn.
Our choices are ours alone. And so is the burden of our mistakes. You don’t want to be my happiness, darling, you never were. A curse that has no counter-spell, a benediction that damns, perhaps. Plastic love, but not happiness, no. Never happiness.

I’m a masochist, a beast. I’m a fucking dinosaur in this world that seems hell bent on letting go. You are a gazelle. Leaping through light and shadow, casting lovely figurines across the vast but barren landscape of my soul. I bartered everything I had for a chance to be with you I gave into blasphemy just to see If not god than fate perhaps might bring us face to face.

But the skies weep for the fate of all mankind instead and there is no time, no time at all for the plight of a solitary man unwilling to tear out the hook you camouflaged in flesh for him to bite onto.

Lives of many follow the same damn paths you and I have chosen there is no originality left in the world. No room for it, in fact. Our emotions are all recycled our loves are all borrowed. The only thing that’s real is the pain we all suffer and the guilt and the shame for where we stood still when we should have walked away and where we held hands when we should have slit throats.

It feels a bit redundant to delve into that dark, dank, thoroughly unwelcoming nook where I have you stashed away. But I delve because in the great tapestry of life, I’m a moth even though you’re not the flame. The fire burns within me alone and it’s the memory of the great dreams we actually dared to have that fuel this pyre I hover around, hoping to stay at bay until its all burnt up or perhaps for a stray flame to rise high enough to claim me once and for all.

I see you dancing, Strobe light lit and swaying to the tune of some lewd nigger song. The L.I.I.T coursing its way into your blood stream bringing you the courage to forget everything but the moment, everything that could possibly lead you to choose anything except what you desire. I see you smiling, ear to ear, as only you could, walking, watching the world that could belong to you if only you do whatever the hell it is that it wants from you to assimilate, absorb, disappear into the thick green forest of the future too far away from the eyes that still search for you in the past to ever find you, to ever see you, to ever claim you again.

This is kind. This is kind of you. But this is not working.

I have no reason and no desire, not even the remotest inclination to ruin it for you. I wish you knew, at least, having failed so miserably to understand.