Unhinged

It is easier to be alone. Free from the ebb and flow of love. Always a surprise at every corner. Purposefully enticing you to step outside of yourself to a possibly beautiful outcome.

Then immediately, without so much as a warning or indication of doubt, turns its back with no explanation, gaslighting every twist and turn of your inquiry while seeming benign like a tumor. Then question your sanity. Question your stability. Question every minute of learned experience you have brought forth towards this dance. As if your existence is in question, or your wisdom up for debate. It's a string of broken dreams and shattered hearts tied at both ends worn to cover up the scars around your neck.

And they go about their lives with such relief and an uncanny sense of resolve once they rid you from their heart that is now turned cold as a stone. You're just another object now in their field of view. Another dollhouse in their periphery. To play with then tire of just as quickly. Leaving you as confused as the day's end.

Experiences like these are prone to harden the heart once the pattern of pretend forms. You pretend you're not hurt beyond refute. They pretend they care.

And once expelled of reason and fate, a fall from season to a contemporary state. When once you go to heaven that knows, time's retribution stands amongst the throws.