I’m alone now, but I’m not entirely sure that is the case.  When you came into my life, you kicked up memories and emotions like pollen on a new spring day.  When I looked at you, I saw myself.  Broken and confused, just like me.  You dejectedly told me how you rise and fall by your own hand, as I envisioned myself dousing my hair  in gasoline and playing with matches.  What do they call a phoenix who sets herself on fire? Does she transform, or is she just a masochist with too much time on her hands? I’m glad to see I still have that affect on people.  Everyone I love hangs themselves by their own nooses.  I stand idly by in the crossfire.  Collateral damage, I’ll claim, while knowing deeply I encouraged them up the gallows.  Or did they hang me? I wistfully stare into the abyss, wondering if I will ever have an answer.  Goodbye, old friend.  I hope to never see you again.

As I sit here alone, I muse about the man who came after you the first time you ventured in my cycles.  I’d be a liar if I desperately didn’t hope history repeats.


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