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I write verbose posts about polyamory, love, lust, and self-discovery on my other blog Victoria's Imaginarium.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


Let go of me. Let go of you. Let go of our past. Let go.

There is a line we need to draw. What happened has happened. What gone is gone. We draw a line, and what the past remains in the past. Love/ hatred/ pleasure/ misery/ your face/ my voice. Puff. What left are only smoke and dust. Float in the air, and blown away. Smaller and smaller, until they could never be visible anymore. Like they have never existed before.

So you move on. With a heart made up of pieces glued together. With a soul filled up of air bubbles. What you need is a hymn. Sung by you, sung by others. A hymn to cure. You know the best, you thought so. So you keep moving on, listening to the cracking sound of your bones. Your bones crack but later they heal. Each time they heal, they leave a mark on you. You move on, and those marks fade away. You thought you know what's best.

Then you fall. Your bones fall out of places. Your heart shatters back into pieces. You're hunted down by what you thought was gone. You thought you know, but you don't. The enemies, they hide in the cracks and sip into your soul. Like leeches. You bleed, but you don't feel the pain. Addiction rules.

You start to realize. What left behind was not gone. Ignored/ forgotten/ hidden, but never gone. It breathes, it cries, it follows you. It is a fetus which will remain a fetus, but you can never abort it. Never. You don't want to be pregnant forever. You tell it. It nods, shrinks, and binds with your body. It becomes an organ. You cut it off, it grows back. So you kill yourself.

Because of a summon you come back to life. Brand new. You know you're alive, but you can feel something is missing. This time you are right. Something is missing and you can never be complete without it. You are nearly perfect, but there is a hole in you. You search and use everything to fill up the hole. Coins/ wine/ drug/ dicks. Then you realize you were not reborn. There is no life for you; you're just existing.

Now you know you have to let go. Let go of me and you. L-e-t G-o.

What bygone is bygone.

A yawn follows, and you know fatigue has taken your throne. You give another yawn, your fingers dance on the keyboard and type:

Here is my utmost appreciation to you for reading this post of bullshit.


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