witty-remark's Diaryland Diary

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You don't understand how difficult it's been to not talk to you. To lock you away in some remote corner of my mind where the cobwebs that gather around the thought of you just draw more attention to what you are.
What you were.
What I still think about from time-to-time.

But I'm with him. And I'm beginning to love him. The way I was beginning to love you, too.

But you withdrew. You were certain I'd hurt you; a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You still send hearts and memories that I capture and plant in the ground. Tiny seeds that I know will grow to nothing more than weeds tickling the heels of my feet.

These feet that you swear stomped all over your heart. These feet you believe walked away and moved on.

Well, these feet are planted in the seeds you sew; wrapped up in the vines you grow.


You sent me this song today. Without one word to accompany it. No explanation needed, but this heart is too small to share.

7:04 p.m. - Thursday, Nov. 04, 2010

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