She was gone, and I did’t know how to feel about it. She was gone and he was the better man. She was gone and he deserved her more than I ever did. She was gone and I respected him so much. She was gone and I looked up to him so much. She was gone and I think she did the right thing for herself. She was gone and she did the right thing. She was gone and the realisation of her absence broke my heart. She was gone and the absoluteness of this realisation killed me. She was gone and I knew she never was coming back. She was gone and a part of me left with her. She was gone but I think she was happier going.
To sit in the corner of a room and watch other people together is painful. Other people who have found other people that they can be happy with. To sit in the corner of a room and watch other people together is painful. Here I am, wrapped up in my solitude. My sickness. My fate. Perhaps this is what I’m destined for after all. Perhaps determinism does tell the truth. Perhaps my purpose is to give someone a moments happiness, a moment’s joy, a moment’s sadness, a moment’s compassion. Perhaps my purpose is to be momentary. Like the fleeting second. Never a first. Always a second. Always flowing, adding to a life, never having one of my own.
