unlabelled gifts of the expensive kind and roses do not a love story make

you know its over and you’ve let go but can’t help wanting to know what’s precipitating now that you’re not there. are you really dead or dying due to lack of me. why do people profess such untruths. its not everyday that you find yourself stuck in this rut but when you do you wonder. is it that life offers nothing better than the sulking embrace of love gone wrong. if love is a message from one heart to another then is the miscommunication of that message a lesson you necessarily need to learn? pain ebbs and flows and you wonder when the sun will shine on a psyche that’s conveniently packed the past and shifted it to its rightful place at the very back of your mind, better yet allowed it to seep from your mind entirely, into a world you’ve left behind. if thats a possiblity, i eagerly await its arrival.

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