Tonight, I can’t write the saddest lines

Nothing actually compares to anything else.

You think it does.

You think it will.

You think that what worked for you in the past – meeting friends, hearing them plan your future for you, making resolutions, reading Tennessee Williams, rediscovering Jim Morrison’s gorgeous, gorgeous voice in The American Prayer – will work again. But it does not. Not for long. Not for more than an infinitesimal second in time. It was the past. The past was less painful even if it was bottomest of rock bottom.

There’s nothing to compare this to. I think it was the man and the relationship that was like that. Beyond compare. Quasi perfection. And so much of fun, barrels of laughter. Where we completed jokes through our eyes and began to laugh at the same instant, loudly, uproariously – filled with the joy of loving and of life.

Nostalgia? Not quite, darling. Not quite. There are no diamonds or rust here.

I had a friend to enjoy the idiosyncrasies of life with. A friend who was also a delicious lover and now, for no reason, without any logic, it’s over.

And it really is.

I can miss not having a lover. I can survive that. I did that before.

I can miss not having a friend. I can look past that. I did that before.

But I cannot have the one person who was everything to me be over, be gone.

I’m so incredibly lost. It is so unbelievably unfair. And tonight I can’t even write the saddest lines. The sorrow is outside me, over me, overwhelming me. It won’t write itself. It won’t flow as a creative outlet of pain, grief, and suffering. This isn’t Blue Funk. There was a time I believed that having lived through that, all manners of pain will be bearable. But it’s not. You are a loss. We are a loss. This is indescribable agony. This is not right. This is beyond blue funk in the bloody month of October.

You and me, babe, how could it not be?

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About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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2 Responses to Tonight, I can’t write the saddest lines

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