STRAINED 💀 ALL OF MINE

You contemplated for a bit and asked if I ever found comfort in love.

Lost for a certain answer, I smiled.

I’m still in search for the proper nomenclature that could explain the weariness behind searching for comfort in something you struggle to trust.

But do you want to know what I find comfort in? Savior complex, Suffocating obsessions followed by sudden disinterest, short lived infatuations, romanticizing people based on fleeting moments, attachment issues and almost everything that isn’t love.

My comfort lies within acceptance of the possibility of love letting me down if i ever gave it the benefit of a doubt. Or shall i walk you through the times it unsurprisingly did?

The heart is a muscle and love might have strained mine.

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The girl with freckles

“What exactly do you like about the rain?” She almost whispered it to his ears. The heavy pour was making all the sounds disappear. The thunder was roaring once in a while. He knows she doesn’t usually like to raise her voice. But this time, she did raise her voice even though it came out like a whisper. “What is there not to like about it?” he said. Her chuckle which hid her scoff cut him off. “Wha…t? What are you scoffing for?” He was expecting her pretentious, almost always pre-formed opinion about it. Not that he hates it, it just kills the mood or his fervor when it happens. His fondness for rain couldn’t be less changed because of this. But, he was giving her a chance to say more about it. “You know I don’t like it when you talk about things in hyperbole. This is just a talk. Not a poem or story. Just state it plainly. Like in the real world. Not like hanging up in some fantasy. As if you’re taken aback by the former world. So, what do you like about rain?” He wanted to say how n...

Beloved!

It was all arbitrary...unplanned. A sick alignment of stars that were adamant on leading me to you. Could I have stopped it? Could I have fought off life's messy inevitabilities? I am unsure, but intuition told me that I could have closed an infinite amount of doors and yet you would have still found a way into my life and so...I don't waste away to such questions anymore. I have attempted, fruitlessly, to forget the taste of your voice, the warmth of your scent, the truth of your existence; all so that I might soon realize there was no reality in which we would have been anything more than we are now. And it is in the hopelessness of trying to escape you that I find myself with a weary smile.

The Naked Powerline

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