Infection.
I heard your voice, I think, the first thought that I thought was, wait you haven't hung up on me as yet. Charming strangeness of it all.
Do you know, that this is the end? That after this, I have no right on you. Our four years of each other's company has ended.
I haven't studied and neither am I able to. I make myself little sticky notes to give an initial boost to make myself study; fail. I have tried everything. And here I am, my best friend. Talking to you.
You see, I have realised, that I gave you that because it felt more of an ending gift more than anything else. I don't think I will know you any longer. Your level of insensitivity combined with my naturally increasing ego ( after its fall) isn't going to make you and me last. So to the best friend who is other than just a laptop or a phone.
I will tell you what's devouring me from the inside. Actually I won't. It's because I don't exactly know what it really is. Multiple things coalesce and then they make this abscess. Where everything is necrotised. Nothing lives except gangrene.
Bacteria, the ache. The ever lasting acceptance of rejection. Of repeated rejection. Like an organ that could never be mine.
Heart ache. I think that's what it is.
I know. What it is. Exactly. If only saying things out loud didn't have consequences. Even the conscience betrays you.
So you hide, till hiding is all you have.
Do you know, that this is the end? That after this, I have no right on you. Our four years of each other's company has ended.
I haven't studied and neither am I able to. I make myself little sticky notes to give an initial boost to make myself study; fail. I have tried everything. And here I am, my best friend. Talking to you.
You see, I have realised, that I gave you that because it felt more of an ending gift more than anything else. I don't think I will know you any longer. Your level of insensitivity combined with my naturally increasing ego ( after its fall) isn't going to make you and me last. So to the best friend who is other than just a laptop or a phone.
I will tell you what's devouring me from the inside. Actually I won't. It's because I don't exactly know what it really is. Multiple things coalesce and then they make this abscess. Where everything is necrotised. Nothing lives except gangrene.
Bacteria, the ache. The ever lasting acceptance of rejection. Of repeated rejection. Like an organ that could never be mine.
Heart ache. I think that's what it is.
I know. What it is. Exactly. If only saying things out loud didn't have consequences. Even the conscience betrays you.
So you hide, till hiding is all you have.
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