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 Post Tragedy

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PostSubject: Post Tragedy   Fri Feb 13, 2015 6:09 am

Years are the traitor of the present. Giving me honeyed delusions of trust. Complacency. And who could blame me, but myself?

Afterwards. In the presence of prying eyes. So kind. I want to ask him. Make sure what really happened, happened for true. My throat runs dry. It hurts. The clamoring around us is like falling leaves. Aware of it, but the only movement holding my eyes, is his. Chest weaves up, and down.

Taking precautions. Make sure everything is perfectly in line. It won't happen again. It can't. As if guarding from the future protects us from the past. It happened. You can't go back. It happened. Come to terms.

The second time, just as long. Precautions did nothing to distance him from the goal. And as I lay there, I wish it wasn't as before. The world, my mind, centered on his movements. Things, but a flicker in the face of a lifespan, last eternity.

The feelings of the aftermath. The ebb of his heart. I can practically hear the blood flowing through his veins. Spending an hour trying to recognize the cadre of feelings racing through. Sad. Betrayed. Wounded. A misplaced sense of affection, in wondering if anyone else has taken such an interest. Could I be happy about a thing such as this? But, one should know better.

From each sensation, trickles of anxiety. So diminutive. One might overcome. Ounces amount to pounds amount to tons. Collective weight seeping into ever crack. It manages to find all the weaknesses in any armor. Shattering. In a few moments, it's overwhelming. Has it been so long since feeling the kiss of fresh air in the lungs? They're burning now. Hot with desperation. Oxygen is like napalm.

Reality overflows. Flowing into a dream. After all, have to go somewhere. It isn't safe there. Not anymore. The escape is temporary. It's security will never be known again. This waking dream. Thoughts of loved ones. Thoughts of home. Of a sweetheart...

Afterwards. The sensations come in trimmers. Sometimes, there are warnings. Sometimes, it's completely without trigger. Unsuspecting. Always, there are memories. There is still sensation. Guilty pleasure. Tastes. The taste of salt. Of blood. It's only taken a few moments to become exhausted.

The dreams are different. Crying in unison. The event replays. A loop that will never end. How the mind thinks torturing this though purgatory will lead to hunting a solution, and executing it with prodigal finesse. There is NO solution.  

Moving is a days work. Moving through the halls. To the bed. It's so hard to sleep at home. It's become clear. This isn't home. Tossing, turning, like fire sets the across the sheets. Cold sweat. But, where is home now? Where is trust?

Only taken once. Only given once. Never both. Never again.

It becomes a blur. Emotions turn to victimize. The guns are pointed inwards to ones on soul. What could /you/ have done better. Knowing there was more. It might have been avoided. Desperate. It must redirect. Somewhere outside. Anywhere at all. It's so hard. Depression, anxiety, frustration. All machinations, and predilections of self loathing threaten to become hatred. An all consuming force engulfing the enemy, as well as it's user. One knows better than to bow to such injustice.

Isolation is the safest precaution one can take. For a while, perhaps. But, seeing things move along as nothing has changed. Food is ash. Water is sulfur. A world so alone can surely have no meaning. Does no one else know? Everything had changed. Did anyone not see that?

Take heart.

There are tethers. Holding the sanity in place. Tethers connected to others. Others you should trust. Trust like the one that brought so much pain. Not of hope. For hope is but an empty dreamer.


Knowledge, that it is not all so dim. That THEY are not all so duplicitous as the one.

It will never be the same. This has brought changes. The thought process. A new dimension of daily struggle. Things that simply refuse to be forgotten, even in the twilight years of life. Such thoughts will always rob the room of air. No. Never the same, but...

Things will be alright.
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