Satan On The Left Shoulder, Jesus On The Right

8 years.

Felt more like 3. Just total blackness, after that fateful Sunday. But as life would have it, a reminder came up, causing all of life's juices being sucked up through your straw. Lifeless. 3 weeks and counting, but no refills.

I now remember how it was being taken care of, fed, fussed about. It was the darkest period of life, away for 5 years. In the wilderness but still knowing somehow you got my back.

It's a curse, she says, and will be for as long as I live for the grievances caused to you. If this isn't Karma, then what is.

My only prayer for your release into the wild is to hope something will come your way soon, while I look from the outside. The burning question of whether this was the right thing to do. I don't know.

Sorry.

Bringer of Bad Dreams and Less Pain

Now that was weird. All the years knowing you, one never got the indication that you were partial to that phase. Yet, as fake as it felt,it would seem absurd to turn it down but I did, but that is stuff of dreams.

Why is it recurring? Is it a disease?

If you are serious as this as I think you are, you can do better. Because no matter how close people are, an infinite distance separates them.

I, Destroyer

It all started a decade ago.

The deconstructing/destabilising effect remains. Trying to get around it, but the heart doesn't comply. The fleeting glances, the longings and feeling of having lost it in the process, defeats you, but only for a little while.

So I come to you, because you make me feel like your god. But I swear that's not the real me.

But to the other, who has been damaged from years of torment. Will you ever wake up from your slumber? I can't be one to you as well.

Mirror of What Was Never There.

The smiles, the laughter...the things that should've happened a decade ago.

A decade of learning and growing of course, but all pushed aside in the pursuit of excellence. Stupidity beckons however, and excuses were given, depriving one of his very own soul.

Looking back and into the glass before us, with the distinct (to the extent of negligible) possibility of time travel, the heart grieves.

Unfunny

32. Most are halfway through their lives already at this stage. Stability and maturity are the order of the day. But a number?

It's no longer funny, more so since January. Help?