Mamma, I do not want to hurt you. You’ve taught me that patience is a virtue and I know it is not apparent as of late, but I would gladly sit and debate the validity of my existence and I would bite my tongue with persistence, if it means that you would accept me and let me love who ever loves me. Mamma, can you say it’s a choice when all I do is lower…
What lasts? Things bright, shiny and new, or things worn out and lived through? Where is the consistency in love, when loss lurks at every corner? A perpetual reminder, that all we’ll ever truly know is the absence of something. It’s been quiet and I’ve been tracing back to all the instances of you. Truth be told, the memories are fading. Thank god, or whoever. I thought I’d never rid myself of the ghost of…