Speaking of Love

I was thinking about you the other day, well I suppose every day. Nothing really changes in our lives. My life. I suppose I need to clear up the misconception. I don’t speak for you, only myself. I know what I feel is real, and it tells me everything I wish I might share with you, but no longer can.

Seems like every weather pattern of the day, night, yesterday afternoon, this evening will bring you to mind. I keep going forward at the same time I feel myself moving backward, without any anchor, no longer in a settling frame of mind, more the anxiety of a knowledge I would rather not endure. There are many days when I imagine my life without, everything, letting my body, more aptly, my mind rest.

Is it selfish? To imagine our lives have reached their pinnacle, that we can feel everything ahead is a downward spiral, to decide this is a pattern we no longer wish to live. Even though every one around us protests their love, and care, and affection, is it really that genuine? Do we ourselves convince our state of mind of the agony or is there a genuine realization that our lives do not really hold a lot of bearing in the greater good, and a departure would perhaps allow others to have their own lives.

I wonder if love can become an eternal forgiveness.

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