War

A part of me wants to hear from you but it doesn’t know what it wants to hear.  Some parts of me don’t, because they’re scared it will pull the whole of me down. 

I was just thinking that maybe this Christmas would be an exception from the war we had been waging.  But maybe there shouldn’t be exceptions, nor special occasions.  That this isn’t an exception, rather, this is the climactic phase of the battle where neither of us should put our guards down and fight, burning down every single part of us that wants to be with each other, until we no longer feel the need to back down for embrace.  Until there’s nothing left.

The missing feeling stirs up inside me because Christmas isn’t in my home, and you’re another home.  But it stirs too weakly it doesn’t even make me say it.  The compulsive person that I am, blurting out my thoughts.  It’s too weak and unsure and my system will stop it, eventually, naturally.

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