In Memory of My Last Great Love

Once again I stand at the window of my room staring, waiting, hoping, wishing that somehow someone would magically appear and take away this pain I feel deep inside. Once again a part of my dreams wither away and a little bit more faith dies. I am gripped by the melodrama as logic is suffocated by futile visions of happily ever after.

I catch my reflection on the tinted glass, tears streaking down a forlorn face, eyes pleading for a fulfillment of an impossible fantasy. Only a faint scent lingers behind, a reminder of what once was and would never be again. A dying moon is shining behind dark clouds as I bleed in solitude.

Why do we love even when it causes us pain? What keeps us on this never-ending search for a concept we barely understand?

I turn away from my window, walking slowly, ever so slowly to the door. My hands are heavy as they wipe away each teardrop still falling steadily down. Once again I look out my window, hoping for a sign, so desperately wishing for a wish to come true. Even after so many disappointments hope is the one sin I’ve never learned how to lose.

Leaning against the wall, eyes shut tight, body shaking in rage and frustration, I try to decide how I feel, trying to find the answer to the questions that fill my head. My knees give way as I slide down, sobbing, shuddering, until I am nothing but a quivering mass of unanswered questions and impossible dreams.

When will it all end? Must we stop feeling anything to save ourselves from hurt?

My head are in my arms as tears refuse to stop falling. After years and years of self-inflicted torture, you think you’d get used to it but you never do. You’re just adding wounds to scars that never really heal. Just an emotional sadomasochist addicted to the exquisite pain.

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