that is not for me. that is not a thing for me. I am trying to dissect this i don’t understand *why* other than *not for you. no.* I want to ask why but i don’t know if i will get any kind of answer much less one that i can break apart enough to swallow without it catching in my throat.
i don’t think love ever dies, not by itself, no. I think you can kill it. rather, I think it can die, but it has to go down violently. Sometimes it can be so sudden, like a switch, an “oh!” and it’s gone, vanished. Other times it lingers, hangs on longer than is healthy. making its presence known unpleasantly. Taunting, but there is no smile, no joke, no closure. Only unease. Only anguish. Not regret, no. That’s the confusing part. As angry as I am, still As angry as I am I know that it was good Not enough to stay. Not enough to keep ignoring my own self. Not enough for who I am now. Not enough for who I have Become.