I hate being justified. It ruins me more every time. There’s a dance to interaction, a gliding movement which swirls to include even the most clumsy social graces. Rhythm metered conversation, quick wit feet making love to common understanding. It might be the the closest thing I have to a hobby but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I tear observations unborn from truth and sometimes it’s just not pretty.
It has been days. I have received no word but a broken promise. Silence. Invitation revoked, last night Judas kissed me and silver fell from my mind.
I have learned to have a limit. A heart line drawn in lonely sand with a sword. It does not matter anymore if I crave someone from fingertip to deepest spark of thought, I’ve learned that I must make myself matter. This cannot be passed again. Certain creatures of thought and emotion are easy to mold, but hard to create. Their birth is an effort, a screaming violent expulsion.
Tomorrow Gavin arrives and we leave the city together.