I wish I could make you cry.
But we only ever shed tears for our own selves
For our own hurts.
Our own losses.
Emotion fails as does language,
to bridge the gap between people.
Love is not a connection with another but an affirmation of internal turmoil,
pleasant and unpleasant.
Sex lies too.
Friendship is the same.
Blood is never as thick as we imagine it to be.
So with these thoughts in mind I will drink my coffee,
eat my breakfast,
go to work and attempt to forge the seemingly impossible.
A bridge between me and a world that I am unconvinced,
today,
holds any meaning what so ever.
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