I ask the spirit for answers.
The serendipity baffles someone even as apt as I.
Reasons beyond my own understanding I assume, or that is at least how I ration it.
All I ask for is answers.
Give me at least that.
If not answers, then a retraction.
A removal of all things Y-O-U.
Erasure of that glance, that smile, that territorial stance.
Repetitious reminders confronting every corner of my mind.
Rendering unnerving mental traffic in the depressing centres of memory.
Better I store that disappointing box in an untouchable space, one that is as dark as it is inaccessible.
Patience has become an unmoving stream threatening to run dry.
Unless the answers become transparent, I want nothing of serendipity.
Truth is, I would rather render you obsolete.
Had I never fell upon this accidental fortune, it would hurt less.
No comments:
Post a Comment