Manual Labor

Reflecting on all of the years that have passed, all of the pain and the hurt that seems to ever-last.

There is nothing worse than feeling alone, feeling alone in winter. Through all of my shame, I strive to find a place where hope glimmers. I can’t recall the last time I felt a real smile. It was taken long ago by the girl to whom I had swam for across the Nile. I can’t remember the last thing that she said the last time that we spoke. It was so long ago, if I still loved her – I feel I would know.

School days on the rise, I don’t remember what it was even like. Perhaps it serves me right, perhaps it’s for the best – for most of the source came from all the rest. Does she still think about me? I could care less. For she is a heartbreaker – one to which I will never have the courage to confront or confess.

It doesn’t get any easier, watching the memories come back. We had good times, bad times – but truly loving ones, we lacked. I will not forgive you, and I do not care if you say the same. We are a closed book with every page so torn, just looking for someone to blame.

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