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(from Letters To Love)

Seems like a thousand days since my heart died. I’ve lost count, I guess. Every day feels the same as the first. One would expect to go numb as time passes, but for some reason, that numbness never comes.

The clouds let shards of light slice through now and then, just to torment me… to make me remember when the sun shone bright every day. I wonder, then, if this is my fate? To live, to love, to die alone? Perhaps it is. And yet, somehow, I continue to live. Although it should have grown cold by now, I can still feel my heart as it weathers away like a stone in the elements, never knowing, truly, whether it is being destroyed by the past or polished for the future.

In the worst of times I cling to death, the only certainty left in this world; the only rock to upon which to cling.  Death won’t let me down, no matter what. Until then, I’ll ride these concrete rivers until they run out of stripes, knowing full well that I can outrun neither the pain nor the wind, but either brave or foolish enough to never quit trying. Foolish, no doubt. Foolish enough to always believe that someday, maybe, the clouds might part and the sunlight will return.

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