Forgotten. Forgetting. Details slip away through the cracks that the marching feet of time create in the pavement of our skulls. Time does not heal all wounds. Time creates new ones.
I can’t ever tell if his silence is my punishment for my doubts or if it is just my doubts punishing me.
I live in fear of opening my mouth to speak and then losing the battle I would most certainly feel that I had caused.
I live in fear of keeping my mouth shut to maintain the status quo and then fading away inside, a little more every single day.
I don’t want to lose.
I don’t want to fade away.
I’m to the point where there is neither make-up sex nor welcome home sex.
My life is nothing but a string of poorly timed events.
I can’t stand the thought of her. She may be there now, but she can kiss my fucking ass.