In moments when I realize I become alive in this respect and deserve to be, but do not know how else other than this, I cry for the unwitting passage through dead calendars and vain efforts to live.
I probably confused too much placidity for peace and acceptance.
Dearest, I couldn't talk when you asked me to not be sad because it would have made things worse (Better to keep them in my shoebox in the closet). It occurred to me I couldn't talk when I need to speak of the truth about my emotions, as loquacious as I am. When I bullshit I rattle off. What's good about you, I can't bullshit with you.
I only know I've lost all my childish primary reasons for these trysts.
Rest assured, all is fleeting like they say. I try to trust that it will eventually be true even if at this very moment it is otherwise.
I swear I tried to be happy.
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