Sick and Tired
I’ve been getting sick and tired of maybes lately. Been sifting through the sheets of fading affection, wondering how they’ve lasted for so long under the frustration of unrequited romantic attachment. A bell rings dimly, consistently, in my head as I lie here in bed thinking of all the maybes that have sufficed all this time: "you’re several months too late, my friend - you should’ve known she didn’t want you in the end.” I concur. Why did I let this drag on, a sleeping drunkard draped over my shoulder, weighing me down until I’m on my knees, just meters from her dilapidated apartment home? I can’t keep investing time on this so-called love if it skirts around honest, straight answers and gets drunk on my kindness. I’m leaving love at her apartment door, come whatever will become of her. Maybe this time she’ll think twice before taking advantage of the circumstances. I need some air. These maybes are fooling me into ...