I met someone in the course of the last three weeks.
I was crushed, that I just ended my tie with yet another person who only saw me as a meal ticket—-wine, dine, sixty-nine me?—-and nothing else. It was with a great surprise that I ran into a charming young man who attracted my attention just as I was picking myself up. I would like to say we clicked, but it was too early for me to tell. Truthfully, I’m not sure under which category do I want to lump him under ...
’Friend?’ or ‘Potential Heartache?’
And so, here I am. Beating my masochistic little skull against the Walls of Reason. Perhaps I should launch myself ala RingLing Bros and see if the oft-gossipped diamond heart that I have will shatter against it.
Will that grant me any respite?
Would that the great love story will somehow find its way into my circle and lift my limbs to join the dance of the living. Alas, alack, I am broken from so many visions of death. My eyes are old. My soul ancient and withered. If we are embodiments of seasons, then I am the harshest days of winter.
I don’t want to hide ... yet I find myself shying away from gestures of concern. I snap at people. I’m verbally vitriolic at a moment’s notice. I envy lovers arguing ... simply because I tire of arguing with myself.
Is it even healthy to live this?
I was crushed, that I just ended my tie with yet another person who only saw me as a meal ticket—-wine, dine, sixty-nine me?—-and nothing else. It was with a great surprise that I ran into a charming young man who attracted my attention just as I was picking myself up. I would like to say we clicked, but it was too early for me to tell. Truthfully, I’m not sure under which category do I want to lump him under ...
’Friend?’ or ‘Potential Heartache?’
And so, here I am. Beating my masochistic little skull against the Walls of Reason. Perhaps I should launch myself ala RingLing Bros and see if the oft-gossipped diamond heart that I have will shatter against it.
Will that grant me any respite?
Would that the great love story will somehow find its way into my circle and lift my limbs to join the dance of the living. Alas, alack, I am broken from so many visions of death. My eyes are old. My soul ancient and withered. If we are embodiments of seasons, then I am the harshest days of winter.
I don’t want to hide ... yet I find myself shying away from gestures of concern. I snap at people. I’m verbally vitriolic at a moment’s notice. I envy lovers arguing ... simply because I tire of arguing with myself.
Is it even healthy to live this?
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