No.
Simple as that,
It’s not happening, I refuse.
You can’t deny me as long as I pretend,
Deep down, I know that this has come to an end.
There’s no fooling me anymore.
It’s crystal clear, beyond my fears.
I wonder if there will ever be a day,
When my mind will go back to normal,
And every time I close my eyes,
I won’t see your stupid lovely face,
And I won’t think about the things,
That I know you love and hate,
These now useless facts,
Are cluttered in my brain.
They occupy too much space,
And drive me close to insane.
On the brink of desperation,
These feelings transform into hate,
But this amount of rage,
Is unheard of and strange,
Completely misdirected.
I wonder who, and if, and what,
Or if I was neglected and dejected.
All of these futile things.
But really, I’ll do anything…
To deaf ears my promises plead please.
It was worth a try, I guess.
I know I need to quit.
My heart cries in vain,
Because it’s a stubborn *******.
The sadness comes so naturally,
I’m drowning in it,
Drained lifeless from the melancholy.
It spreads like cancer,
Ravaging my body.
The worst disease is memory.
Why can’t you just be normal?
Just another person on the street.
I’ll give it up, I’ll try,
Even though it’s still a part of me.
Each day I’ll think, and laugh, and grieve,
Until the point where it’s not unfeasible to dream,
Of complete and total inner peace, acceptance finally.
These are the stages of grief as identified by the psychologist Kubler Ross