scene: Fast-food outlet half plastic paper cup rolling aberrant twixt the fingers of a mild breeze, leaving traces of hollow sounds against the leg of a bus shelter.
~
Feeling diseased, predominantly symptomatic of the hard shutdown and cardboard cutout nervous impulses of this nigh-fluttering arrhythmia, the haunting thought of how I really just can't do this anymore, permanently leaving dwellings of what could've been in sheltered murk; remembering the sound of exhaling as I had fallen to delicately brush your cheek, the little things you never noticed... you never did notice, did you?

[not that I gave you any reason to.]

And, now, it's all loss and letting go or giving up: so, nothing has changed, save for long-deliberated decisions finally made, regarding quitting and cutting down on thinking about such matters and moral dilemmas whilst time dries out; I have more lives to lead, do I not? Even if, once, the belief was that you were all the life I needed, in whatever meanwhile we tangled up in our collective noose-knots. Even if I thought I'd loved you.

Left with the curtain pulled, grey rolling hilltops, all I have to admit is that there's no reason, any more, to get messed up over these bits like gravel and tar into tender soles; it all drops out with disaffected expressions, a little pain [much, much less than would eventuate, if circumstances were left the way they are*], and those lingering half-degree burns your lips left around my breath.

It's not your fault.
I never meant to fall for you in the first place, anyway.
I'm trying to make things right.

So, don't worry any more, for to neglect the corridors of my heart set aside for you is all I can do, now.