the ache

i see you. i can touch you. but you don’t see me at all.

why, pray tell, does the heart yearns for what it cannot have? this maddening pining and wanting that drives the heart forever onwards. this nagging and insisting that is putting the mind, body and soul through so much unwanted insanity and suffering? this bleeding heart that drives the hand to touch you. to yearn to pull you close again. to hope for a positive reaction. to wish for your cold facade to drop and the return of those long absent whispers of i love yous and laughters in my ears.

but i know there will be none.

why, why does this damn heart not listen to the head?

stop. forget. erase. release. move on.

a pulsing lump of flesh-muscle should never have such a strong influencing urge. it’s should never have a mind of it’s own, powerful enough to have a crippling hold on this suffering, bleeding mortal shell.

wicked is this ache, this ache. i stab at thee with hate.

please.

accept this reasoning: release her.

she, the girl that used to be your one. is yours no more.

-keane: you don’t see me-

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