And maybe I can be drunk or maybe I can be sober but the dread will still be there because regardless of what form i take I am still hurt. And I can throw up my dinner but my feelings for you will never come out so disgusting because loving you was the only good deed I’ve ever done. Perhaps I am stupid for writing a poem about the one that got away instead of getting up out of this bush and chasing you to the ends of the earth.

Though, you cant blame me for giving up. You cant point to the hands I let touch me and say that I’ve moved on when all I ever look for in others palms is the familiar life lines of yours. I dont think people were ever meant to feel such heartbreak. But I dont think I can feel anything else.

Excerpt from a life i hope to never live (Rose)