Yet to be named
You never knew did you and it was too late quite some time ago. I don’t know maybe you know now by the degrees of damage to my heart I’ve acquired from missing you. I try not to think about you for too long because I’m afraid I might lose the little bit of hope I have left for life. I live with the sounds of emptiness that goes rushing through the holes in my heart but things would be different if you were here but you’re not and it’s so hard without you. You don’t come to me at night anymore like you use to when I was asleep. Sometimes I like to make believe you and the others are all together preparing for my eventual coming, but even so I’m not in any hurry to leave even though I anguish over you and the others. And love- well it lives on in my heart but hope-- it remains deep within the confines of my inner most secrets hidden behind the shadow of a darkness where even I seldom dare to go. And the teacher there in the classroom of my mind tells me I shouldn’t but yet I do feel cheated and behind every make believe fairy tale designed to give myself relief a voice inside me that cannot be silenced continually asks why? I may never know and maybe there is no reason or rhyme to be had in this crazy time we call being alive. Perhaps we once traveled through space as atoms and became caught up in a prism of green and green being the color of a physical plane thus all that is physical is but temporary like the various aspects of time we seem to go through. So I ask you does that suck-well so does this concept of sorrow I want perfect is that so awfully bad but no I guess I’m supposed to be happy with whatever is the easiest to deal with/the lessor of evils/whatever’s most convenient.