I hate the person loving you has turned me into. Nothing is good enough. When I think about it, I don't think anything ever was, anymore. It all feels spoiled now like rotten fruit. The things we used to do and the things that people do for me will never taste the same. I have tried to recreate those feelings of what we were when we walked through art galleries and museums, just holding each other. Having a cigarette, dancing, singing, talking, eating, sleeping, breathing. Instead I am left hollow like the burrow of a rabbit after it was made lunch. I will always keep that space reserved, I think. An exhibition you are no longer allowed to see. But the embarrassment hurts. Knowing you are the only one that wants to see it. You liked that I was unassuming, that when I leaped into your snare, it was easy. I had never been caught before. I never anticipated blood or broken appendages. In this game with no other competitors, come and grab your consolation prize. Me.
Happy 2 years