I haven’t had time to reflect lately or properly for that matter on the things/situations in my life. I reached back out because I am a masochist, clearly. It hurts so much to talk but damn are my words beautiful when I’m in pain. People say they feel my words better that way. I guess that’s why I stopped listening to Mary J. And Keyshia Cole. Ain’t no hurt to relate to and lately I feel that’s all my life is becoming, major heartache. We all have a muse. Mine has seem to come in the form of broken men and distorted perceptions of women. I look at pictures of your face and I see everything that could never be. But it fuels my fire and for some reason when I am done writing I find myself further and further away from you. Clearly this makes no sense to you because I mean, you’re but a man and I am a complicated woman. My prayers consist more gratitude than of questions. I’m learning that sometimes people need to be let go and although it’s becoming easier for me to do such it still leaves my heart cold. Conversations are not supposed to hurt so I keep it light and discuss Beyonce’s new album and send funny pictures. I slip every now and then and my heart escapes my permission to speak and I tell you how much I miss you but you chose to ignore. I can’t decide what hurts more the rejection or acknowledging the fact you no longer feel the same. My heart doesn’t break lucky for me. No instead it just feels weightless and lifeless, exactly how I felt last night when I decided to relax in a bubble bath while drinking countless glasses of pink moscato. I haven’t reflected lately or properly because to reflect is to think and to think is to realize and to realize means sooner or later I’m gonna have to accept. I’ve never been too good with changes…

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