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Ok, well, I exaggerated this a bit, but you get the general idea.


The fear has been creeping softly in ever since I acknowledged the dead-lock I trapped myself in half a year ago. It fully unleashed itself these last few days leading up to Christmas, a season of love and reconciliation. Reconciliation, something I am still unwilling to accept from her; forgiveness, a liberty from hate and anguish I refuse to grant for both of us. And love, a power distorted into its ugliest form in our adamant manipulation and stubborn insistence of our own dignity.

Contact is inevitable. It means having to face someone I no longer care about, to relive the undulating memories she’s forcing onto me, wave by wave. Nightmares grip my endless nights, so many early mornings I have awoken with a prickly sweat, straining my ears for a comforting bird’s call that does not penetrate my mind thickly shrouded with dread. Memories I wish to forget— Recollections of times long past, which I have incarcerated into a dilapidated, banished prison of thought in the hidden recesses of my mind, burst out like flash floods of a hot summer. They break through the strong dams I have painstakingly constructed to suppress the tides, the eddying flows and currents that took so long to calm once again go raging, forming monstrous waves that tower over my dark, rocky shores.

They are not memories solely of her, but of all the repercussions that came from stepping into her world, their world. A world of empty souls, aimless shadows of human beings that hedonistically pursue transient possessions in a vain attempt of self-gratification. And aren’t all of us like that, at some point in our lives, to some extent? The stark realization that there is no absolute line dividing right and wrong, the wracking acceptance that we live in a gray world, that there are different definitions of “right”, and if one chooses to do “right” things, one often has to be alone.

The turbulence and chaos that resulted have reduced me into nothing but a flitting remnant of my old self, for I have lost my confidence in seeing through people, no longer perceiving their fears and fantasies with crystal clear vision, but as though through a haze that will never lift. These months I have slowly recovered, locking up these banes within walls that I thought were secure. But it was a form of escapism; I was delaying the moment of confrontation. It was all in vain, for I had never recovered.

So it all boils down to this. A forced exchange of fake, transparent greetings and Christmas wishes built upon superfluous words alone, carrying not even an iota of meaning or sincerity. A forced reconciliation— the air is heavy, weighed down with false cheeriness— creates an illusion that all is well and forgiven.

No… the hate and pain still lingers…


It’s unfinished and I don’t plan on ending it. Merry Christmas.



is a playground for my unspeakable thoughts.

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