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.