Obinice

I am trapped. Blinded into building my own prison and tasked with keeping myself there. Fed hints of happiness that never bore fruit, while the absence of other words that should have accompanied slowly hollowed me out. Days pass, weeks, months, pain. All pain. Waking up every day knowing my destiny is to rot away until I'm too old and empty to ever be loved, never allowed what I need. Hope forces me onward, like a life support machine keeping a brain-dead victim's corpse from dying. It is my greatest strength and greatest weakness. Hope keeps me alive, and keeps me trapped. My body may have a future but my heart does not. How cold it, af

Weak in body and broken in spirit. Does the past matter? It got us here, after all. The further back you look the happier things seem. Why? Some people remember the good things about times and people from their past, they block out the bad. Some people are the opposite. The past serves to make us who we are, but we are imperfect and often flawed; sometimes broken. The past becomes concentrated pain and the future looks bleak. Logically there will be no change to the pattern; False hope, false happiness, loss. Do the important things right and you can leave the rest to chance, some people believe. The only problem with that is there's no wa

It would have been four years since you said yes to me. It would have been two years since I understood my love for you. It would have been one year since we looked forward to summer together. It would have been six months since I last saw you. It would have been two weeks since you had a nightmare and I held you close. It would have been one week since we went to the lake, got soaked by the rain and loved it. It would have been five hours since we went to bed, made love and fell asleep in each other's arms. It would have been four years since I'd been truly unhappy. It would have been.