Take off the mask, remove the cloth that binds your chest, that keeps your emotions in check. The cloth that, wound around you helps to keep your memories away. Memories of all the pain and anguish that you force yourself to cower from, in fear of self-destruction. You know that only time can heal, you know that time is scant. But sometimes wounds leave nasty scars, scars that fade leaving a shadow of pain. A mark of the suffering endured. Her smile and eyes that once held warmth in my gaze, now warp in my inner eye as cold malicious ones. Accusing me of rash decisions, of abandonment.
You put the pen to the paper, words flow out, but they mean nothing, words of anger and sorrow and rage. Words of longing and pain. You know there’s more to yourself than all that she was to you, but women tend to get in your head. passion becomes your primary fault. Everyone you have ever loved has hated you once before. The words are so simple, yet so painful. Painful enough to spring tears to your eyes. Painful enough to remind you of the love with which she kissed all that you hated about yourself. Leaving you with a pain in my chest, a pain that makes you want to claw at your chest for relief.