She will linger there, in the backstage of my mind. The only show on the stage is every thought and waking memory. In every shadow I’ll see her silhouette every girl will look a little more like her
… for a time.

I’ll confine her memory to the back of my mind until I find myself impaired at which time she’ll resume her showcase at the forefront of my thoughts and ill find myself lonely, bathed in regret once again.

None of this is her fault, she is no vengeful apparition that seeks my misery but a spirit of freedom on the wind that I was foolish enough to hold onto. I am nothing if not a masochist willing to trade one type of pain for another, the searing pain of her memory will ache and seethe until the stitches across my chest that are loneliness resume their constant tearing anguish. After all, one cannot expect to get high without suffering the side effects and trading the numb regularity of sobriety for the empty, frigid feeling that is withdrawal …for a time.

There will be a seam on my heart, with every beat I’ll feel the pressure hindering the flow of emotions that once billowed freely throughout me, now only echoes and remnants of what was. I’ll feel less of everything, though the memory of what I’m missing now has slipped my mind. I’ll carry on this way, living on monotony and what remains of my shattered desires…for a time.


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