Slippin’ and sippin, draggin’ and draggin’. That’s it, dragging along like a poorly directed movie or a movie directed to emphasize the wait. Cause I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but the repetition is starting to feel like a bad trip. Approaching two years in the waiting and the only elicit of your memory was how hard you fucked me over. With that said, I don’t even think of it that way. In the words of Ms. Hilson, “just get back up when he knocks you down”. And not only did I have to get back up; I had to dig, dig through the 12 feet of debris you’ve left behind. Thank you. No sarcasm, it’s a legit appreciation voucher. Reason being, that it was you that left me with no choice but to manoeuvre through the terrain of depression. But I was in denial, so in denial towards the theory that I needed help. As I coped on my own, I became vulnerable. It was like the sensitivity valve was cranked up. However, it was all misplaced...
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I got distracted, the above was written two days ago, and I stopped because I got a certain phone-call. The sound of my ring-tone snapped me out of a zone, made me come into realization that I’m stuck in the past. The sound of the voice on the other-line was my present. I’m writing letters – when that itself is a thing of the past. It’s now, a quick pace, instant messaging, and instant phone calls and I gotta keep up. That’s right, he’s keeping me up, while you raised me up and helped me dig a hole for myself. He keeps me straight, while you long ago were part of the reason of my substance abuse. He’s on a quicker, clearer pace and you’re behind me. I see the path, accepting it and running forward’s the hard part.
P.S. I’m still not over you.
xoxOMG
-AG, signing off.
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