writing

i tried to tell you but my pride…

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anger spills from my veins that pump the thick bellacose blood to all vital zones of my weakened anatomy. my eyes flicker with rage, not something entirely uncommon of me. you are not what i initially thought. and yes, i presumed that you were someone who cared, someone who had a purpose. but its obvious, after weeks of silence, that i was dead wrong. instead of being pleasant, you’ve witnessed me being hostile. new concept, right? as if you really noticed. with words exchanged, through vivid imagery, and concepts of only an allegory, my heart pounded at a pace i cannot bare to speak of. i, awaited your responses, as loyally as a canine to his master. and i awaited for years and years, and on top of those years, even more years. time passed, and i rarely grew tired of waiting, because, upon meeting you, i knew you were the sort of person who required a lot of waiting around for.

and suddenly, as if it was an utter miracle, we grew together, in a garden amidst a cemetery. we knew one another, whether or not we really knew that.  treking up hills and wheezing at the top, smoking our camels and sipping our whiskey dry. we were invincible. the days spiralled forward, and the knowledge we obtained piled up, in stacks and stacks of leatherbound notebooks. laying on yer porch, with the clothes line overhead, watching as the soft clouds rolled by.  your hand grasped mine, and i pulled away. you tailed me home, and i hid out of terror. i didn’t know anything. and now. after this. we don’t talk. but its not that. its as if we never knew one another. and why i feel this way. i can’t quite say. all i know, is that yer not the same, and neither am i.

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