Poison

Sometimes I get so caught up in my head.

So tangled in webs of anger and sadness that I forget to look up at the mountain peaks. Instead, I focus on the cloud laden valleys, so thick with fog that I can’t quite see a few feet in front of me.

My eyes become so focused on the tangled trail before me that I find myself missing the breaks in the clouds.

Missing the sun rays of someone else’s smile.

Missing the whistling, wind like sound of a new laughter.

My friends tell me it’s the nature of depression. The cycle- the fall, the climb, the peak, the plateau, the fall.

I understand the science, but it’s hard to view your brain from an outside perspective when it’s a battle zone covered in the fog of war and you can’t quite tell from which direction the next knockout punch will come from.

My friends ask me when I’ll ever get over her.

“Never.” I say.

Because you should never get over real love. There is a reason it’s been talked about for millennia, stories upon stories that describe a love transcendental. Otherwordly. Eternal.

And when it goes wrong, it lingers years after – like the Fukushima radiation.

Mutating, poisoning, killing your chances.

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