I’m not sure how I am supposed to feel.
I want no sleep, for fear of the images that haunt me
in my dreams.
These thoughts that in the waking hours of my day I push back.
These thoughts that in the waking hours of my day I push back.
Bury them beneath whatever else occupies me until at
night I am at rest again.
They grow limbs and crawl out to remind me
of everything I am fighting so hard to hide away. The feelings of regret and the
pain associated with them. The weakness and despair permeating every thought, every
word and subtly every action.
I don't always win the fight and sometimes I give in to the vivid images of what these feelings stem from.
The curve of her hips.
The nape of her neck.
The smell of her hair.
The taste of her lips.
The feel of her skin against mine.
The way she looked into my eyes.
Her eyes.
They had a way of looking into your soul, piercing deep beneath every defense you put up. These are the images that wish to haunt the waking hours of my life and fleeting minutes of my dreams.
The curve of her hips.
The nape of her neck.
The smell of her hair.
The taste of her lips.
The feel of her skin against mine.
The way she looked into my eyes.
Her eyes.
They had a way of looking into your soul, piercing deep beneath every defense you put up. These are the images that wish to haunt the waking hours of my life and fleeting minutes of my dreams.
The wave pounds against my chest until I lose my breath; I feel my
heart skip its beat and the darkness coming on. When I come to, I lie to myself again.
I’ve won this time, but I should know better than that.
I’ve won this time, but I should know better than that.
They arrive when I least expect them, always undesired but ever efficient. These thoughts, these feelings and memories that know just where to inflict the most pain. They sit and watch until I am at my most vulnerable and intrude into my life with the grace and subtlety of a bolt of lightning. I reel back with resolve. Feeling confident that this will be the last time they will get the better of me, the last sharp breath, the last errant tear.
I know better.
Your only hope is to move forward ever faster, to keep
ahead of the wave. Until the past grows distant and forgotten, a reminder of
the road you have walked to get to where you are and nothing more. These
memories that haunt you nothing but a speck on the horizon you leave behind, rushing into the future that awaits. Open armed and eager you leap forward
without looking. You dare not wait.
The wave is catching up.
The wave is catching up.
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