Argh ..
It’s so trivial, missing him. There are a billion other things to think about, and I’m thinking about him. Pointless, inane, pointless, silly, stupid, pointless and TRIVIAL. I hate him. I hate those memories. I hate melancholia. I hate hating the fact that I can’t ever bring myself to hate him because I simply want to loathe him but I cannot do it. The heart detaches itself from the mind and breaks itself into molecules.
There’s a lifetime to live. I need to live it. By jove, I need to live it. I can’t bloody live it if I don’t leave him behind with the rest of the kipple. So do I delete these memories? But they’re so fond .. so endearingly dear. It’s just a button away and he’ll be gone. I’m loathe to do it. I want to carry him around. He’s the sort of ache that makes you can’t breathe for a while. But I do love self-mutilation of the mind. Nobody can see them scars.
The pain is intoxicating.
