Relationships for me have been psychologically destructive. Like a woman filled with new life inside of her only to realize a few months later, when she looks down, she sees nothing but the blood and poisoned water of that miscarried happiness.
The relationships, pregnant with possibilities, result in nothing but the paralytic pain of birthing dead promises. Left standing with the love that once exploded within me contorted, cold and lifeless in my hands.
So, I bury that relationship and my tears with it and begin to ride on with the prospects of something new; new purposes and new disappointments. And once those little flutters, those little kicks begin again I get rid of them, get rid of them before they turn again into happiness, plans and expectations. I murder them within me, erect walls and concrete my womb so nothing can grow there. And like that premature happiness that tore itself from me, I, too, become contorted, cold and lifeless.
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Aug 27, 2014