I don’t know why I hold hope for us reuniting.
I remember years ago, right before I went to Norway I did a magic spell with the condition
“She can come into my life when she’s ready.”
Be careful what you wish for, right?
All I know is that I would’ve tried my damndest to make it work.
“Weather the storm” as they say.
And maybe I still feel that way, even with the onslaught of voices telling me how you’re all of this that and the other.
Everything that I don’t want, and perhaps, what’s wrong with the world…
This is the absolute limit of love.
It feels pathetic.
I feel pathetic.
And as I trudge on and try to shed the weight of it, there are still nights where I could curl up into a ball wishing for what could have been.
Maybe in the next life.
Maybe I end my life tonight.
Who’s to say?
It’s all “up in the air” and as a double entendre that’s to say
“It’s all within me.”
I’m capable of great things, I know that,
but “you can lead a horse to water but can’t make it drink.”
All these sayings from my mother.
And when in my mind, the thing that’s “too good to be true” finally happens,
if it’ll ever happen,
how do I face it?
With blind acceptance?
With rejection?
In all my dreams and pondering I’m uncertain about this future.
Or am I.
I know who I am.
I just feel like such a fucking fool.
