(no subject)
And now that silence surrounds, I will whittle the first public words for some time. Now that I'm sure I've repulsed you beyond all contact I can simply be honest.
This is no longer for you, this is a tomb I build for myself.
I am filled with the pains of fruitless ambition. I am a failure at it all. You shouldn't have come, and I don't know why you did. I'm sure he will follow you soon, to make whatever beautiful life you have conceded to impossibility for us. It doesn't make sense to me, the switch that occured. It was as if I fell asleep with a woman that loved me, or so I thought. When I awoke there was someone else there, contemplating heading back to the barren north before she had fully escaped it. I lament for us both. I do not think you will ever know what you want, and I do not think I will ever get you back again. You say our actions have become petty, and we are no longer compatible. Nothing has ever hurt me more. The consignment in your words. The defeat you have accepted. This is the end of it. I take the knowledge of Marc Antony, knowing when you are defeated. You don't want this anymore. There is nothing beyond that I can do. If you love him, love him. You will take this as delusion, but do not do so out of spite, or sympathy, or lack of better option. It hurt to read the sweetness you give him. The words that at one time I believed were reserved for me. I for some reason hope that you'll come back, that the girl that picked me up from the airport, sweet and smiling will return. I do not think she will though. I do not think there is enough love left in you for me to stir. I think the love of my life is in its final chapter.
This is no longer for you, this is a tomb I build for myself.
I am filled with the pains of fruitless ambition. I am a failure at it all. You shouldn't have come, and I don't know why you did. I'm sure he will follow you soon, to make whatever beautiful life you have conceded to impossibility for us. It doesn't make sense to me, the switch that occured. It was as if I fell asleep with a woman that loved me, or so I thought. When I awoke there was someone else there, contemplating heading back to the barren north before she had fully escaped it. I lament for us both. I do not think you will ever know what you want, and I do not think I will ever get you back again. You say our actions have become petty, and we are no longer compatible. Nothing has ever hurt me more. The consignment in your words. The defeat you have accepted. This is the end of it. I take the knowledge of Marc Antony, knowing when you are defeated. You don't want this anymore. There is nothing beyond that I can do. If you love him, love him. You will take this as delusion, but do not do so out of spite, or sympathy, or lack of better option. It hurt to read the sweetness you give him. The words that at one time I believed were reserved for me. I for some reason hope that you'll come back, that the girl that picked me up from the airport, sweet and smiling will return. I do not think she will though. I do not think there is enough love left in you for me to stir. I think the love of my life is in its final chapter.