i miss, despite all the bickering and struggle, what was actually lovely and right. i have to hold back tears and shouts that could signify the anguish that surrounds such days. happy couple strolling about, sipping drinks, levity amassed in casual glances and an ease with which they laugh and move and chat away.
it is as if pain forgot them or they have never been introduced at all. yet someone that has seemingly so much to give and so much that has been lost is not granted a simple breath of pleasure that might ease the toil of regret.
this life is a journey.
a road filled with sleepers, the amused, entertainers, and the awakened. the awakened travel toward the far sides observing the passers by shouting in attempts to scare the amuse, wake the sleeping, and shame the jesters. and all the while they awake are full of sorrow.
it hurts to see.
whether what is true about the world or about one's own self.
i hate the man that killed what i love. i hate him deeply.
yet i am.
it is as if pain forgot them or they have never been introduced at all. yet someone that has seemingly so much to give and so much that has been lost is not granted a simple breath of pleasure that might ease the toil of regret.
this life is a journey.
a road filled with sleepers, the amused, entertainers, and the awakened. the awakened travel toward the far sides observing the passers by shouting in attempts to scare the amuse, wake the sleeping, and shame the jesters. and all the while they awake are full of sorrow.
it hurts to see.
whether what is true about the world or about one's own self.
i hate the man that killed what i love. i hate him deeply.
yet i am.