masks



These nights, these weeks, fly by so quickly. It’s a Wednesday night... I recognise it by the fact that I need to put out the recycling later for collection in the morning. I recognise it by the fact that I am washing dishes in an empty house once more with an aching heart because I’m thinking about you and how you choose to ignore me most days these days. And on days like this you look so beautiful that it pours salt into my open wounds.
So I go through the motions of making another empty, meaningless meal and as I speak to my cats and hum some dumb tune I wonder what the point of it all is. The thing is; even if you wanted to be with me I don’t believe that we would be happy for more than a couple of years and that we’d simply be caught up in the same game that the rest of humanity seems to be trapped playing. The game of conventional lifestyles... jumping through hoops to support children and to pay for a house. I don’t want that. I never have. And I think that you too now realise how difficult that life is. This means that I am trapped in a constant hell of knowing that there is always the pain of longing and that the only pain greater than that is that of getting what one wants.
Never the less, you seem so desperately unhappy that I want to reach out to you... but when I do, you withdraw. Having said that, who knows what truly lies within? We all live secret lives and we all have our moments of joy, glory and sadness. You may have a secret lover whom you find wonderful. Your life may be a dream and the sadness and boredom are merely the masks behind which you hide it all.

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