Little pieces locked away in boxes

I apologise for my weakness. I am indeed rather weak. There are so many things that I’d like to say, except at the moment my mouth can’t seem to form the words. I find it funny that every time I try to say them my voice gives out. I let you coax me back into quiet acquiescence when we both know that we could never be. This thing is an anomaly, it should never have happened. I’d like to lay all the blame on you but I can’t, for it was I who let myself be led on.

We could sit here and talk about the depression that seems to be approaching from the east. You’ll probably liken my attitude to the cold front that leads the warm one. The violent force of the storm only to be endured until the eye, then you’ll wait with baited breath for the warm front, a pathetic excuse for a fight. After all my energy has been spent you’ll lure me back into mediocrity. Before, I would have been content but it’s not enough anymore. I have seen the first glimmer of excitement, I hadn’t realized that it had been so long since my heart quickened beneath my chest. So long since I felt so happy that I would float away. Did you really expect me to deny the first splash of colour in my world? I’ve heard it said that it’s the things we love that destroy us. If this is true then I welcome my destruction. I’ll cling to the stake as I burn.

Thoughts from Anna Karenina.



Happy Days, Mellow Nights,
Afam.