If I don't talk about it, it won't go away. I also don't want to talk to anyone. I seem to live in contradiction with myself, not wanting to be alone either. I feel lost. I stay busy and work through what I'm feeling. I keep telling myself that things work themselves out. That things are good this way. But in contradiction, I sometimes feel the opposite. I feel alone, regretful, and my will power, gone.
I would succumb to the slow songs that numb me and drop me into a comforting darkness, resetting my mood back to a neutral state of ignorance. No soft voice, or tender touch to caress this bruised heart and fill my gray soul with vibrance. I have my work to keep my mind steadfast. I can't afford to sulk into uneeded idolness. Things should be fine. I've found a path and my goals line up in progression.
So why am I executing verbative rants of struggle, and emotional bouts of will and depression?
The answer is one of jealousy and fear.
Jealous that she's happy. Fear of being forgotten.
I miss her, and hate her because of it. I'm happy to see her happy, but still feel like dropping her new counterpart to floor in one focused integration of rage and sadness; satisfaction amiss. An action only replayable in my unconscience.
Drives home eat at my soul, meals don't have flavor, and donuts aren't as sweet when by myself. That part of my soul is forever with her. I can never retrieve it back. So for now, I exist, working and getting by. Living for my family and for friends who need me. To them, I share pieces of my soul, and I gladly cherish theirs. Until I find a counterpart that brings together my lost, discarded shards of my soul, then my life belongs those who lend me their own will power.
And I thank them.
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