Hopes and fears.

Not writing about Keane’s album. The phrase is just too commonly felt… thought. No confirmation, but very likely. And honestly, I’m saddened. Not nearly as devastated as I would have been like before, but close. In the sense that it hurt a little. In the sense that I panicked a bit. In the sense that I felt despondent and I felt drained.
I didn’t love him, but I loved the “him” that I kept alive in my thoughts, in my heart.
I wonder if I’m again reduced to waiting for the inevitable, to praying that it comes swift and soon… So that the pain will stop teasing and gnawing at my soul.
I don’t think I’m asking for too much. Just the usual things people long for.
At times I feel like giving in to despair. Other times I will myself to move on. After all, there are still others waiting to be discovered.
But I unerringly return to the cause of my uncertainty and current hopelessness. So much so that all others take the backseat. Which shouldn’t be the case, but unfortunately, ashamedly, decidedly is. And no matter what I do, I return… Again and again, tiresome in its hyperbolic silliness.
It’s you. It’s always been you. Until when, only time will tell.
I hope no more. I wish no less.


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