I long hunger and resent the notion of rest.
I am restless.
I am full of hate.
The emptiness is evident when there's no one around.
The pain is the only company I keep, and the only narcissistic thought I keep is that I alone know this feeling.
This specific pain with a name.
She only matters when she is remembered.
And I wish I would remember to forget her.
I wish I could.
I know I should.
There isn't a reason, just what memory serves.
