Out of sight, out of mind over matters of the heart. I'd rather go blind than be
reminded of her departure. Change my address, burn the photo albums, they say.
Better to have loved and lost. But I swear that I'd rather go without it. This too shall
pass like a gigantic kidney stone breast. Not to live in the past or withdraw back into
your shell to be alone. But you don't know how this feels. Guess you had to be there.
Wish this wasn't real. The connection which we share, this unmistakable bond that's
branded me with third degree burns, an unshakeable loss, like when your closest
family member leaves this earth and you hope that they finally find peace and rest.
Meanwhile, you can't stop crying, can't sleep. There's no sense. You've gotten so
good at camouflaging your sickness that you were no longer aware of its existence.
Gazing into the mirror, you found an innocent victim in power through inferiority
while rebelling against all religions. You like the way it fits so much that you've worn it
ever since. No one has to know to what extent you lost touch. Your problems are
your own business, disassociated and disconnected. Most sense of time, space or
human emotion. Any psychoanalysis is misdirected by accusations of violating your
assuming form, aiming your pointer at your closest loved ones, blaming those in
your family photos, throwing them under the bus, knowing that it can't be undone,
burning bridges until the final route to your island crumbles into the ocean and not
even the mailman is willing to fly in. Oh well. Out of sight, out of mind over matters of
the heart. I'd rather go blind than be reminded of her departure. Change my address.
Burn the photo albums, they say. Better to have loved and lost. But I swear that I'd
rather go without it. This too should pass like a gigantic kidney stone. Best not to live
in the past or withdraw back into your shells. You can feel alone, but you don't know
how this feels. I guess you just had to be there. I wish this was a real disconnection
which we share. This unmistakable bond that's branded me with three third degree
burns. An unshakable loss, like when your closest family member leaves this.
