A stillness settles around me
in the wake of the heartache
that follows the end
of a temporary affair.

It isn’t the end of days,
but I don’t know
if its better when
you know everything you did wrong.

Then again, I suppose
I might be addicted
to the thrill
of self sabotage
or maybe simply
standing in the way.

Maybe it’s the distraction
I’m grieving or maybe,
it’s the fleeting connection
that has been broken.

Don’t you feel like
taking off your skin,
wash it, put it back on
because maybe now,
it’ll fit better?

Isn’t it annoying,
discovering things about yourself
that sort of suck?

The thrill is gone
or perhaps it’s too constant
and has lost its appeal…

when the timings right
I’ll fall in love too easily,
but accept the synchronicity
of right now.

This is where
I’m supposed to be.

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