I am starting to doubt my own surviving instincts. I'm slowly losing it and I cant seem to find a way back on top of it. Before I knew it I found myself packing my stuff from the office. I got to think of if there's some sort of an anonymus meeting I should be attending. I was straight away picturing myself in Eminem's situation; Hello my name is Kyle and I just got sacked. I even felt in the mood for a laugh at that thought.

I'm still laughing, so I might as well answer my own retorical question; yes, I believe I've not only lost it. I've gone mad.

Burned on Ashes

I fell for her but I am told I am still looking for that same flame which left the ash on my surface. It wont matter if I tell her, that by saying those words, I feel my heart brake. She would only tell me it's already broken. As if there's nothing left to brake.

It feels as if I'm caught in a circle where I see no way out, created by the fear of letting go and the lust to move on. If it's good or bad I can't tell. But I'm craving for the embrace of what's on the outside. She doesn't understand I don't need to rush for a conclusion. I'm coping where I'm at.

I wonder if I should forget about the causing flame. Cover up the ash on my sleeves, my hands? Never trust people to understand. Understand, without me having to drown the ash in water, time and time again till it's all down the drain. Maybe that way I won't have to tell her I'm moving on and she wont have to believe me. She will never have to understand, never have to worry about the previous flame nor the ash. She wont have to worry about having to share me with.. being compared to.. or mistaken for..

It could have been that simple but the ash is a great part of me, who I was and have become. She doesn't understand it isn't easy to erase one's past. If only she could see I am capable of loving in two different ways. The love to a memory of a previous flame's warmth and the love to a new spark's fire.

I remember these thoughts. Déjà vu, it has happened before. I realize that by opening up I have now been forced to silence, yet again. I'm tired of convincing, starving to her abused stubbornness, I'm exhausted. In the end I already know the outcome of this conversation. It has to this day not yet succeeded.

I will admit this is not the first time I have got burned on the same ash, the small trace of my past. She is not alone bearing these thoughts, but I hope she keeps in mind that sparks lighten to flames. Ashes never do.