Dead ends.

Every relationship is, eventually, a dead end. I am still a little surprised when people choose to “dead end” a relationship early. It'll happen naturally, why do it voluntarily?

What I write bothers people eventually. My writing is fake, often fantastical and sometimes facetious, and the process is mysterious. But having having had the thoughts themselves sets people off (people I care about), so I here erect a wall between myself and them.

I loved the fire, and I loved the fury. When she ran hot I did everything I could to meet her, our pulsating raw energies melting into supernova. When she blazed at me I took it, holding firm for her to scorch. It was glorious.

Sometimes she burned out for hours or days at a time. Maybe it was depression, maybe a vitamin-D deficiency. Those times I could mother her, tend to her.

Saying “I miss this person” barely covers the hollowed-out experience of living without the person you raged with. I am spent and purposeless.

As a teen I fell in love with a ballet dancer. I talked her into dancing for me in the rain — a private show at night in the Indiana summer as water spilled on us and I watched her feeling wet and alive.

Now it feels like my turn to dance in the rain, letting the sky spark my body and boil my blood & take me away.

If I cut your throat would you stop saying you’re sorry?

Go to sleep. Stay asleep. Leave me be.

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