After a nauseatingly substantial time, one would think the nauseatingly short "excursion" (if you will) would no longer be significant. That those moments would be diminished by the substantial growth that took place in those years. That the fact life changes so rapidly within those years of transition would cause one's mind to erase those ideas and for them to become so insignificant that one could laugh at them.
Not so.
Why are the moments I spend with him utterly joy-filled, yet the moments I leave his presence filled with uncontrollable sobbing? (Sobbing, not those pitiful tears that stream down one's face gracefully. I mean the kind of crying that makes you look so ugly that you pity yourself.) Why do I scream in frustration at the night sky and then draw a bath for me to soak my sorrows in? Why is there still a lump in my throat whenever I see his frame; smell his fragrance? Why does it hurt
so
much?
Is this a test from God or the devil himself? Or is this a human flaw, a glitch in my mental wiring?
Or is this life. Or is this love?
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