there are moments where I miss her so much I swear the gods are playing guitar with my heart strings.

Perhaps I’m simply not designed for happiness. I mean, I’m certainly designed for love. That isn’t even a question. But am I meant for anything more than that? If love is the path to happiness, am I only meant for the means and not the ends? The journey but not the destination? I seek to be better. I work so damn hard at it. To kill off this other side of me. But I run in these fucking circles. Non stop. And sometimes I do it alone. Sometimes I have company. But I’m getting fucking tired my friends.

When they tell our story, will I be the villain or the hero? Maybe both. Maybe there isn’t really a difference. We’re all heroes, we’re all villains. I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m not looking for your fucking pity. I don’t want your empathy. I don’t expect you to relate. All I want, is for you to decide if I’m the batman or the joker. In your story.

Love is no place for the soldier.

And that’s the battlefield I find myself on. This is a place for poets, my hands are far too rough. I can’t help it. Life crushed the gentle side of me. It’s still there, but it’s buried in the weight of years. So where does the soldier go? The war is over. Nobody even knows who won. There is no battle left to fight. Except the ones in my head. I’ll relive these battles eternal. But only the ones I lost. The battlefield of lovers and loss. That’s where I rest my head, in the losses of the past.

This is my story.

It’s far from perfect. Too many words out of place. Moments I can’t explain. Characters needing development. Cliff hangers that never get resolved. An empty ending and an anti climatic denouement. But this is my fucking story. And I’ll tell it however I want to. It’s the only one I have.

She asked me if it was time

What response as there?
These feelings are timeless. There’s no schedule for pain. Just new scars and older ones.

She asked me if I would have any regrets?
More than I can count. But who doesn’t? Sometimes I think that regret defines who we are. And you may be my biggest, but life is a one way street. And we may have passed our last stop together.

Then she smiled that special fallen Angel smile, and I knew in that moment that the weight of her sky would crush me, but that was okay. Yesterday is so heavy, yet we still carry it around with us.

There are no angels. They all lost their wings ages ago. Instead we’re left with the fallen ones, and demons. So many demons. Every closet, every hidden heart, every love. Plagued by demons. Demons and ghosts. Broken hearts and surpressed evils.