Have you ever sat down to write the opening of a short story that is bouncing around in your head and then have this kind of shit come out?

the only relief you felt
was when you told “see this as an opportunity”
to fuck off
you felt like yourself again
briefly
ego and false bravado dictated
that you said that the leaving
came as no surprise
and it shouldn’t have
you knew
her voice had become a poor cover band
her touch bordered on resentful
a head in the sand still hears memories and legacies dying
you learned
that
romanticizing does not equal numbing
when it comes to pain
you felt
that
suffering
you knew
paled
and then you saw this as an opportunity
to fuck off

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  1. Ben says:

    Man…that’s exactly what I ended up writing in the subject heading of my last email.

    Weird.

  2. Anto says:

    I wish I had that opportunity to fuck off before being “virtually” left…damn

  3. JenBun says:

    Rhubarb, eh? Now I want some pie…

    I love these three lines:

    “her voice had become a poor cover band”
    “a head in the sand still hears memories and legacies dying”
    “romanticizing does not equal numbing”

    You call it shit, and yet… it does not (ever!) come across that way…

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