(no subject)
I always follow this image, this link, this headline to find this page and my head drops. I see my feet. I see my hands. Instruments of expected failure. Did I ever actually believe in myself? I see my feet that did not carry me to that distant state. I see my hands that failed to write anything of use. I feel my forked tongue and the lies I told still leave a bitter, coppery taste in my mouth. I cannot purge myself of that taste. Those lies were I.V's that I thought kept me alive when really they were keeping me in a coma like state. Coma or cowardice? I never acted, I never spoke up, I never placed my soiled foot on anything except my faith, my opinions, and my beliefs.
It doesn't feel right that I am writing this entry instead of talking to her. I should be talking to her. Why can't I talk to her? The almost silent click of the keyboard as I type this entry is the sound of cowardice. I feel like a traitor and the sovereign nation that I sold out was an empire: the Relationship, Me, and Her. All warring with each other by sending poisoned letters laced with everything we never said, everything we never felt to feel. Which is exactly why I am writing this and not writing to her.
It doesn't feel right that I am writing this entry instead of talking to her. I should be talking to her. Why can't I talk to her? The almost silent click of the keyboard as I type this entry is the sound of cowardice. I feel like a traitor and the sovereign nation that I sold out was an empire: the Relationship, Me, and Her. All warring with each other by sending poisoned letters laced with everything we never said, everything we never felt to feel. Which is exactly why I am writing this and not writing to her.