An argument of disappointments. Borders of lines and feelings, drawn heavy across young skin. Exchanges recalled from the limbo of years past, with a different cast. The separation of lovers across a bridge of experiences. Built with the bricks of self-imposed exile, and mortared with loneliness.I spend only a little time searching for the flaws in an exchange, as an excuse for absolution. The relief of cancelled plans is immediate and sickly sweet. Social hermitage is a measure of methadone. My relationships wither a little more under the intoxication of misanthropy.

12:06 a.m. - 2019-07-30