My previous blog was full of outrage.
Fueled by a sense of unfathomable betrayal.
Probably, based on a belief that telling someone you love them, somehow makes a difference.
It gets you the right to be directly informed.
It makes you deserve that much.
Apparently,it doesn't.
Only madmen in love can nourish such romantic notion.
The timing is so atrocious.
The moment I gather myself and shards of my heart.
The moment I decide to distance myself, he has to come back.
He has to leave a word.
A formal greeting.
A word so deprived of emotion, it feels disrespectful.
Disrespectful, and fouler than an abuse.
Like spit in the face.
Like alms so petty, they offend a beggar.
It is like he mocks my love.
Or his knowledge of it.
Yet, I wait for that one pitiful word.
Wait with eager anticipation.
Wait, till it brings the disappointment of its bland notion.
Yet, I love him, over the other who loves me so truly.
Am I so blindly ungrateful?
There is nothing I appreciate more than my unparalleled fortune in what I already have.
Then why are my affections so divided?
Is it the allure of that which is beyond reach?
At least, the question is clear now.
In time, the answer may present itself too.
Until then...
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