Feb 26, 2015

Things are prepared and do not go as planned.
Moments are lost for no reason.
He stops speaking to you.
what have you said? What have you done?
No matter how much you plead the answers don’t come.
A tear forms, teeters on the edge threatening to spill over the lid to slide carefree down your face. A tear that threatens to betray your calm composed exterior.
Internally, temperature rises.
The outside stays cool not flashing signs of anything. Composure.
Expectations weren’t met.
The results in no way represent the preparation.
She won’t look at you.
Your face is numb. Your heart races on.
Your lungs have been filled with cotton, or so it seems.
This has a name. You wish you were good with names. I wish I were good with names.
I want to remember this name. I want to name this.
I swear. I swear, again. I hate to swear.
Whatever this is, is making me swear.
No. Making me do things I don’t like doing.
This isn’t me.
Wait, I know its name.
Now it’s gone.

Dreamcatcher BF
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