all that i do

11 AM, pages for you.

I keep turning the pages, and the story is never over. I think that we're getting to the end, the blank pages that the publishing companies stick in for symmetry, but the lines keep flowing, the words never end. We are poetry, we are prose, we are art, we are passion. And it's hard to believe that you're cutting it off. It's like ending a story before you even get to the climax. You know how in that movie Elf, Buddy's dad worked for a publishing company and realized that he'd never make his deadline, so he ended up printing a children's book that was missing 5 pages of the story? This is what you're doing. Only, you're not taking away five pathetic pages, you're taking away years. Years that we could be, years that we could try, years that we could make something happen because I know you, I know that you love me, I know that we could do it. And it hurts. It hurts to know that we have this love, this connection, this knowledge of each other and how we interact and love each other in the most amazing way, and to know that it's going to waste. And you're wiping the slate clean with this one. You're telling me that you want me to go, that you want me to seek others, and to stray away, far away from you. You're telling me that you want me to start over completely. It's like our story was being typed up on a computer and then the hard drive crashed, erasing everything, every bit of imagery, every precious metaphor. I can hardly stand to even speak of such things because I love you so much that it doesn't make sense, this doesn't make sense. I can't believe this is happening, and I can't believe that you're letting it.

the end.