sto morendo

I’m about to bleed poetry.

img_6811I’ve had my apartment back to myself for two days since having company for three weeks; as my soul mate‘s family revealed health issues back in Italy, which means he’s out the door.

I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying at this point. But that’s ok, eyedrops help, and at least I’m discrete. Dipping into restrooms, trying to avoid houseguests.

Sto morendo.

While break-ups aren’t my favorite thing, I feel that this abrupt crack is nothing like a break-up. We didn’t exactly break-up, life simply exploded in front of our eyes. And I understand that this happens to the best of us, that doesn’t make it easier.

Alas, family is always first – and true love is the only real tragedy. So I’m not going to talk about it anymore. I’m just going to focus on Sperlonga, and probably write a lot of poetry.

A shit ton of poetry.

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