the moon. 19 of 22.

January 11, 2011 Posted by the writer

the moon

Regardless of how I try to spend my time alone, your imprint controls my thought processes. Our history carves my actions.

The thing is, we both know better. We know we’re only harming ourselves – holding onto death. Refusing to make room for life.

We want him to suffer eternally, regardless of what it does to us.

You are perfect to me. You are my only understanding of perfection. When we had a child together it was perfect. Our suicide pact… perfect.

Why should either one of us live with the burden of setting him free? Once upon a time we thought happiness existed, I’ve lost track of how may lifetimes ago that was.

New York City has brought us both refreshed vitality. Each time we are born and return to this city to find the other, something new and exciting awaits. Someone like Anthony, or a red-headed stranger. This place contains more opportunities of avoidance than you or I ever thought possible.

Yet we conclude the same every time.

Every single time.

You started doing heroin. I knew when I began waking up in the middle of the night vomiting. And I began to plan a retaliation. A noose… a far jump… something you would not try to prevent this time.

Because you were dying slowly. I understood your reasoning, I only wished you had chosen a quicker method.

Why are you dragging this out?

About the writer

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gretchen's brain is preoccupied with words.

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