She doesn’t understand me. I struggle to understand her. Yet it’s possible we are both saying the very same thing. Such is the nature of our language. That oddities such as these shall arise, and a terribly long period of time should go by with neither side reaching agreement. We all have our reasons, we all have our truths – these turn into decisions, some are good. Most are experiences.

Of what use is the past if we cannot make reference of it to guide our decisions? I feel this is what you ask me to let go of. For it is not benefitial any longer to hold on. As too much weight can stress a fragile boat, so too can the past weigh on a person’s disposition. But for this, I will take the stand – the past is my only defense. It is, however, also the reason for my distaste in life. In it, I find moments of sadness and instances of hurt that spill in all directions. And people say about spilled milk what they want to say about the past as well – never cry about it. 

Far from cry, I find it hard to shed tears tonight. And laughter takes a deeper struggle. I am caught somewhere in between like a person who lies in bed for too long, too tired to do things, too anxious to sleep. The past takes hold of me, and for a reason or two I cannot shake it away. Perhaps I am callused by the pain. Indifferent. So it makes no difference whether things go anywhich way they may. This is what it feels like to feel tired.

I am too tired for more words. I am thought to be mean for the ones I’ve uttered, but this is what sounds like when you’re tired. A yawn from far away, an island to one’s self. Wanting to be alone, yet hoping that they’ll reach out. But that won’t happen, no it won’t. Tonight you sleep alone. Tired and angry – lonely boy. Tonight you sleep alone. 

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