For a long time I thought I knew you, but I was blind. For a long time I thought I knew myself, but I was asleep. Too entangled up in a dream of Sunday evening thoughts and emotions. Somewhere along the way ten-percent was a substitute for ninety-percent and the perpetuation of bullshit, smoke, mirrors and acts of omission all seemed to make sense. And yet I still somehow find myself sitting in these puddles on cold rainy days, when it ought to be shining outside. I am constantly shivering, wondering when it will be warm again. I must have been sleep walking, a ghost figure, a shadow of a human being. Because for some odd reason, I thought you knew me. I thought that after some time there might exist an ability of perception and communication without words.
Promises that were never kept. Changes that never occurred. A future that never was. A loss I feel not for you, but for myself and what wasn't.
Things are perpetually unspoken and I simply exist like that glider flung off a child's rubber band. Novel but forgotten, novel. I am just a novelty. A figment to exist in imagination but not in life. I never belonged here, never. I am so filled not with sadness, but with rage. I am angry because you betrayed me with my own emotions. I am angry because you lied. I am angry because you never were who I thought you were supposed to be. You could be happy and I won't know, but you were happy the day I watched you go.
Even this written long before committed because somehow, deep inside, I knew. My instinct was able to write what my heart and mind would rationalize away. I'm on my last day's of silence and no one stopped me from walking through that door. For the tiniest moment, it's all not true. No longer there to hold you back, take a glorious bite out of this whole world.
