Every morning I get up, rub my eyes, and look at myself in the mirror; wondering how I got here.

This is the one you've all been waiting for. The one where things are said, later regretted. A passage, where no safe route exists. I simply can't even bring myself to write anything.

Maybe because I'm over all of this.

Maybe because the apathy is just so; I don't even care anymore.

Maybe just because.

Irrelevance is heightening, feelings are quietening, and seemingly somehow love just is not.


H.

Somewhere between now and then, things happened, words were said, lives were changed. Everyone but you could see the fear in my eyes.

Blinded,

obsessed,

consumed.

H.