Mist

Sunday morning with too much of Saturday night in it. Luckily, the coffee’s black, like both of them. .

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Cheers to that ☕️

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A Pretense At Dawn

At the end of the day, there’s a long way to go before the morning comes.

Still, a pretense at dawn will do. 🖤

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Love and squishes,

Cookie ~

Strychnine

Forgetting, did not render it benign

We were destruction, but-

you were mine … .

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Whatever that means.

Love is an opthistotonic contracture. The death mask grimace, the arched back, frozen in flexion. The limbs jarred against the chest, the legs askew. The poison circulated well beyond the point of return. Or, at least, you recover with enough supportive treatment, and maybe enough time, but you never get it out of your system completely. The spasms visit you at the oddest hours of the night. A lone, unguarded moment here and there, and it catches you unawares. And it hits, like a lightning bolt to your spine, electricity and pain landing down your entirely. And all you can do is wait for it to pass.

Sometimes you forget that you were ill. The dormancy of the hurt lulls you into a false sense of security. And you forget. Or you remember, but you force yourself into hoping that it’s gone. That it was benign.

But it is destruction. It was destruction. And you were mine.

And the two were not mutually exclusive.

Strychnine

Overestimating yourself is a disease, that leaves you most vulnerable- from the inside. When you can’t judge your weaknesses and your strengths, you’re never quite safe.

I thought I was safe. Then I met you today, and it was clear as day.

There’s nowhere left that I’ll ever be safe again.

Archimedes’ Other Principle

It still hasn’t stopped being disconcerting.

Admittedly, I’ve been more touchy than usual in these days last few days. The Domino Effect of Shitstacks states that new nuisances will compound older ones and all of them put together, reawaken the oldest. Or, release the broken Kraken, I suppose. And mine’s barely on a leash.

I wonder with increasing frequency, when this un-banishable feeling of inadequacy will finally leave. Every day I wake up feeling empty is a day I spend wondering, in every unguarded moment, _why_ I wasn’t good enough. Why you were stupid enough. Why I was stupid enough. Why nothing was enough. And I’ve had enough of it.

I want to be free, of this persistent nothingness. I’m not looking to fill it with someone else, and as gut-wrenching as the thought is, not even with you again. You punched your way out of my chest. You’re not finding home in there again, no matter how contrite you are.

So there’s that, I suppose.

At least the birds are so loud that they drown out my thoughts. Good morning it is.

– C