Is this what happens when two broken people entangle? I thought I had ample experience in this regard, but, day by day, it gets worse. Now only profanity and silence remains. The truth is that your trials lack depth, they lack mythic quality. I'm used to a deeper dysfunction which comes along with a necessarily similarly impressive coping and responsibility skill set. Your woes, my dear, are pretty plebian. Perhaps that is precisely why you deal with them so poorly. The number is still zero, your actions as of late hardly measure up. Almost Oddeseian, but not quite.
I still weep for your absence, despite everything. But, like the others, it is for a wraith that I weep. Not a person, because you don't exist.
...
You are still the most beautiful. Even more so than before, but I suppose happiness does that to a person. It was just as before, before the end; the four years may as well been a particularly busy weekend. We are still who we were, and talk the same way. We are perhaps both just more. Which, I suppose, is how it should be.
I certainly think so.
...
Willow trees and beer. It made me realize, again, how little of me remained in action. Everything I do now is so dull and plebian. Where is the poetry, where is the fire? Locked in the furnace of my heart, left outside in the rain where it can heat nothing and slowly but surely burn out.
I must try to not hate myself.
Currently Listening: Elliott Brood
Written On: iPhone
