I’m starting to wonder if every desire of mine was set out with the pretence to never be met…

I desired to be loved and understood;

Lasted a while and it was heaven then quickly turned the other way when my partner grew tired of all my little quirks.

I used to write eloquent and complex writings that I’d be proud of making.

Now inspiration is at an all time low and my pens feel like bricks tied to my hand to pull me under.

I used to think that marriage was going to be fun. If there’s hard work to be done no problem because I’d have someone to fight for who is already fighting for me and…

Let me say that the dead silence after your partner leaves the room and you let out a fateful sigh in relief that you can just be and be yourself is empty and purposes self reflection more than a mirror would.


Why do all good things die?

I am not opposed to doing the work to get the result but when it’s a living breathing being who has chosen you out of the masses and proposes a life course with you and just you; I don’t know. I thought I’d feel like this majestic unknown but salvaged fruit from a mythological island in which I’d be preserved and celebrated somewhat regularly but I turned out to be an orange…

And nobody not nobody celebrates an orange.

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