I saw her again.
A gut feeling swelled inside me—like a mother about to give birth. Full of anxiety. Full of desperation. It was weird. A contradiction. The sensation was like monarchs fluttering in my belly, but not the kind that signal love or excitement. These monarchs danced in the void. Beautiful, but lost.
We chatted briefly. Nothing deep. Just a flicker of connection still lingering, at least for me. I showed no weakness. I remembered the line I walk alone. And I moved on.
But then I saw her again.
This time, the commentary from my colleagues weighed heavy.
“What if?”
“Would you?”
And I realized something brutal: I never healed my wounds. I just left them blistering and alive. I moved on like a scurvy-ridden rat bastard—gnawing through life, pretending the rot wasn’t there.
And now the burning image of her beautiful smile weighs heavy on me.
Life is a cruel mistress,
but my mind is the worst master.
Every day I wake up and choose
New ideas or worn-out shoes.
Who to woo, who to lose,
A lie creeping bigger than the woods.
Find me, I am lost in the truth,
Ideas come like sparks from youth,
But the lies, they build their refuge —
A fortress made of fractured proof.
Sinister †Publications 
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