Life is something of a mirror to my sullen past. Anxiety keeps me a prisoner in this little apartment. The dust has settled but my hairs stand on end. The restlessness of their old love brings tears and worries. But I try so hard to forget. I want only to forget what it meant to feel so warm in his arms. No...I can't talk about him. I desire numb, bleak, dreadful content. And to bat an eye towards anything old makes my stomach wretch and tear.
I will never give out my tender heart to another for it died with him. Emotional, winter, shallow...and empty. Life is simply that. My lungs push the winds slowly in and out because I have no say otherwise. I desire nothing and no one.