heart is a storybook, a star burned out

Sometimes, love dies from abuse. Sometimes, love dies from neglect. Sometimes, love dies from absence.



And sometimes...love doesn't die at all, and we just wish it would...



I've been here before.

And it never gets easier.



I asked him today for a hug. Well, no, let me be precise--I said I would ask him for a hug, but I didn't know if that would offend him.

I got back the lines of severance sent by someone else, the new ban firmly nailed in place.

I guess that's his answer.



Maybe it's a good thing, knowing that another fracture in my heart won't destroy me. Maybe it's a good thing that I know how to shore up the weak spots, and continue on. Maybe it's a good thing I know how to operate under stress.

Or maybe these are all terrible things, and they're just familiar to me.

I don't know anymore.



But this is where we are, I guess. No repairing what's broken, ever. No discussion. No further contact. No...more. No more anything.

And I get to be the pillow over the face of love, quietly smothering it until it gives up and stops kicking...while my brain protests there has to be another way, and my heart screams it's not supposed to be this way at all.



Well, I agree. It's not. But here we are. And here, we unfortunately stay.

And the walls go up, and the gates within will be reinforced, and the list of those that have access to anything past the courtyard will be narrowed further...

But, to use a phrase I loathe...it is what it is. And I have to accept it for what it is. And find a way to move forward from here...