Sunday, 18 May 2014

Sunday: the blues.

The disappointing anticlimax, not less crushing for being expected, but worse each week that passes, through its cumulative effect.

Did I expect you to know that my waits are not metaphor, but real, in the vertical plane?

(insert stupid pun on horizontallity here).

They are, I cannot but think its either a complete unawareness or an utter disregard from someone who brags on what a considerate person he or she is.

Meanwhile, I am Jack's emptiness, filled with voids of all sorts, longing for an oblivion which (like you) insists in not coming to at least say "hello".

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