“That’s life!” they say,
but watch as it passes me by
as I sit on the sidelines and
cry about not being able to focus on any one singular thing
-except him.
My obsession, my most prized possession
only somehow, I do not appear to possess
the resilience required to cope.
The constant oblivion is driving me to distraction;
self-destruction
and yet, the rejection reminds me
of the insignificance of that which I do possess in excess:
letters, texts and digital images of you-
the last remaining traces of reality-
my reality, which is that our ‘so-called-love’
is a tragedy.
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