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2019-05-27 - 11:16 p.m.

"I keep wondering what I'm gonna do without you
And I guess you must be wondering
That same thing too.

So we go on
Go on together
Living a lie.
Because neither one of us wants to be the first to say

Every time I find the nerve -
Every time I find the nerve to say,
I'm leaving,
Oh, memories, those old memories
Get in my way.
Lord knows it's only me,
Oh he knows it's only me that I'm deceiving
When it comes to saying goodbye,
That's a simple word that I just
Cannot say.

There can be no way
This can have a happy ending.
So we just go on
Living and pretending
And convincing ourselves to give it just one more try,
Because neither one of us
Wants to be the first to say
Farewell, my Love.

- Gladys Knight (& the Pips)

There's one week left until board exams and I didn't sleep at all last night, nor did I do any studying today. It wasn't in the cards. There's too much foggy emotions to figure out, but Lord knows I tried all day. Now, Gladys is the only one with answers. I don't know which version of real is the for real real, but wow. When I look at this same girl from the eyes of my love, the one I perhaps foolishly devoted myself to, I can't see any recognize any goodness or redemption there. She is a loathsome being, hardly worthy of humanity. A persecutorial succubus. Is this how I feel because it's being conveyed as such? Through the steadfast torrential denials, the relentless hailstorm of incredulous gasps of disbelief, does the truth in fact still glimmer in the distance? It flickers with the jittery life of the crystal lake that disappears before the endless horizon of dunes. I am too weak and without discernment. The only path I have is forward, onward and onward and onward until this hope or my own life is snuffed out.

I don't have a choice. In that there is beauty, but I am hardly equipped to bask. The colors are few and dim. I do not remember what was behind me, neither minutes nor years ago. The quiet is a master who walks stiffly and heavily at my side. Dear humans I have forgotten you. Dear life I have no semblance of you. I do not know what these arms are for. They are not mine. Poverty, the destitution of the soul, of love and of joy and faith dessicates my body. And I exist but no more, lest I become a stream of crystal clarity. Who comes and as quickly is gone.



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