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Sometimes my sorrow is as thick as syrup in my throat... it sticks to my insides and makes them sluggish and contorted. The beauty of one photograph it seems has the ability to rip my guts out and spew out at my feet. I think I was finally forgetting what she looked like, and then I see that picture, that smile, as though there were a lemon in her mouth, and it hurts more than I can put to words. Even all this time later it ties knots in my gut. And I'm not upset she's happy, I'm not even jealous, I just wish I was ignorant. I wish I didn't think about it. I wish I didn't see it. I wish it had never happened, and I never knew her. "It's better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all" doesn't count for shit in cases of unrequited love. I wish I was a womanizing piece of shit who never felt anything remotely close to love, because love is tearing me apart... and I've never even gotten to experience it. It's so god damned isolating; so very lonesome. It's my strength and weakness, but today it's obvious which of those is prevailing...