The end...the begining
And so, this time the PenTalker is well and truly dumped. There will be no sequel(s).
It'd be stupid of me to pretend I didn't see this coming...
being human, I couldn't help but hold on to that slim thread of hope...
What slim thread? It was but the shadow of hope.
Even vainer than hope deferred can ever hope to be.
Now what? So I knew it was coming - you'd think that I would have mentally prepared myself,
and maybe emotionally shielded my heart for the coming assault of pain...
but no. I was doing the "hope" thing.
Tell you what, hope sucks.
It is nothing more than an illusion wrapped in fragile cobwebs of wishful thinking,
a ploy to avoid looking into the mirror with honesty to see things as they really are.
What the hell did I just write? "Whatever..." she eloquently proclaimed.
Being dumped does no wonders for your self-esteem, too.
We try, but often can't avoid those soul-searching tirades:
"how unlovable and unlovely am I?"
Then, the defensive: "well wh0 does she think she is anyway?"
But sometimes, those questions are totally unrelated.
You were just not meant to be, however terrific both of you may be as individual people.
In my case however, I'm still stuck in the "I must really be a horrible specimen of humanity." phase.
Fuck it...it'll pass.
For now, this PenTalker is about to shed the garb of emotional mushiness...
the touchy-feely what-the-world-needs-now-is-love syndrome.
I am not foolish enough to think that cynicism will hold me forever,
for in my heart I remain the proverbial "hopeless romantic"...
But I will give into the dark side for a while.
Perhaps it's my way of dealing with sorrow...who gives a flying fuck?
I will don the garb of an armchair critic of whatever the hell I please.
I will laugh in derision where I deem fit...
I will point accusing fingers at whoever I want...
I will do whatever the fuck I want, whether it's poetic or not.
And if I want to fucking weep right now...
I will.
It's a cruel world out there...
get used to it.
