Love letter # 158

Some might say it’s for the best – and maybe hindsight will reveal it to be so – but right now I can’t believe that. Today it seems like haste and hurt, like too hard. Sure, we are safer in our private cocoons but what kind of life is that?

Then again, maybe none of that matters. All that noble lover’s sentiment – perhaps it’s just the opiate of willing delusion, a narcotic trick of hormones and hope. Would we be happier if we never believed – never had to un-believe?

Part of me wants to kick and scream and fight but the quiet voice in me sighs tired assent. The wrecking ball is through the wall – our lovely bubble leaking.

We tried – didn’t we? I know I did – even if you think I didn’t.

I am numb – three quarters disbelieving – cut. You may say it was inevitable – I might even agree – but I still don’t have to like it. This is a cold house indeed, without you in it.





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