I’ve been thinking of you so much lately, that I’m allowing you to cloud my vision of almost everything. The speed in which I’m willing to call any flag red, and jump ship the moment a gray cloud crosses the sky. You called me a gypsy, and you called me flighty, and then you became the reason for my flighty, gypsy habits.
The lies. The lies. The lies. The recently uncovered lies that you’ve told both in recent, and distant past. To swim in your environment has been both healing and sorrowful.
I am in relief that I am not the only one that now has to suffer in seeing you for who you have been. I am tragically disappointed in the untapped, and unused talent, that is rotting beneath your addiction.
I pity myself, since you have turned to be vastly different than the man I fell in love with. I pity you, since you have turned to be someone I’ve seen you tearfully state that you never wanted to be.
I am devastated, thinking back to the young, carefree lovers; moving into the the house we figuratively, and literally, built for each other. Our whole futures ahead of us…
Having no idea that within years, it would be cut short in the exact disgusting way we were so carefully trying to avoid in the beginning.
Wild Little Hare 