Everything Reminds Me of Her, yet Everything Means Nothing to Me

My lips stopped working long ago. My embrace is more brittle than an old man’s. If love is the answer, please rephrase the question. It’s not a question of intelligence, it’s a question of imagination. We thought you had a plethora of it. What’s a plethora? It’s not a clevergirl or boy, it’s what he or she can dream, and a meaningful kiss and embrace is a dream courageously branching into reality. If it can’t be stomached, don’t exacerbate through regurgitation.

During grade school and high school, I always thought something like love was owed to me as long as I lived. If not then and there, sometime in the near future, always the near future, from the point I devised that conclusion. As time went on, that quiet faith became a quiet dread. If I were to obtain that kind of affection (or more accurately, sympathy) I’d have nothing but doubts to scream it’s lullabies to me. Screaming lullabies and singing lullabies are entirely different.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I don’t get runner ups, but if I’m dealing with something in my personal life, in which my auto-mendacious antics would surmise my pessimism, I’d want someone who would dare to defy me. And the method in which to do so is so elementary, so easily, can even be done without words. A simple gesture or a simple embrace. That’s how easy it is to be important in a person’s life, in my life. Show us synchronicity and we’ll know we’re not alone.

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