Why it has to be so? I feel a flow coming in my head, so sudden. Like, I started to think about all of
the moments that never actually happened, where both you and I were friends and lovers, and all that
could not have been, and then everything simply shattered. No thought untouched, no nothing. Every
feeling, every brittle feeling and figment of imagination is damned, there is not much more to cling
to. I loved you. I never loved you. I obsessed. I dreamt. I fooled myself. None of this ever made any
sense, and now it is simply gone, as it should be. Or is it, really? I mean... I'm still thinking
about it, ain't I? You're still as beautiful and unattainable as before, just sitting tall there, in
my mind, still bearing that half smile you always did.
I don't want any of this. It accomplishes nothing. There is only sadness when trodding down this path.
And yet I look out for it. Yearn it. I do not love it. I love it. But no, I don't love you. I am only
obsessed. And not about you, but about this construction, this overbearing idea of grandeur
surrounding you. Who you were, are and will be. And it's probably true. I mean, you are and were
great, you're probably going to remain so. But maybe this whole idea of us was never even remotely
close to being great. It's feeble. Pathetic, even. But I'm still deluded. And it's wonderful. And it