September 2nd

I was so angry I stood, forgetting why I sat; so angry I stopped, forgetting why I walked; so angry I unclenched my fist, forgetting what's done with free, angry fingers. I thought I knew what was wrong with you. I thought I knew the catch. In a world of uncertain, changing things- a world of terrible, untrustable things you were the light. You were the good, the wholesome relief, a breath of safe air. You were the unchangeable human being that leaked around fast conversions, absorbing the tremors, and leaving this to ease into something new. I thought I knew what was wrong with you, and it was chained in a corner of you, cold, and you were ashamed just like oddly amazing people always are, always seem to be. But here we stand, looking, both of us losing sight of who you actually are, actually used to be. This isn't brave, isn't an act justifiable. Not an act of self sacrifice, it's a sell out story, a jest to be wiped off lips like harlot lipstick, and just as disappointing.