It’s like putting in an old pair of loafers.  They fit and feel so well.  I welcome it like an old friend, a familiar feeling of loneliness and anxiety.  You show up with a lame excuse like old mail, and I am right back there, in the storm I feel never ends.  I embrace it and dance in the shadows of what never really existed.  I wear the shoes for a while, even out on new adventures with new faces, and I feel the tug at my core.  I look for you in their words, their eyes.  I don’t allow them to see my soul, my words are empty and hollow.  Formalities aside, I excuse myself and cry alone on my floor.   I will be eternally at war with what it is I now know.  Pain is where I thrive and smiles no longer touch my heart.  My feet grow weary in these shoes and I have to stop.  I can’t though.  As long as I wear them, I still carry you with me.  I don’t want the storm to end, but reality and love do not coexist for someone like me.  You can keep your new shoes.  I hope they give you blisters.


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