window seat

I keep skipping albums. some of my favorites musicians. I can’t enjoy that rhythm and those songs of love. those words of promise and commitment that d’angelo sings of make me tilt back my head, roll my eyes, and rotate my neck in hopes of exorcising these tears, but back into their deep pits. will I ever heal? I have no fear of love but the reminder of my desire for romance makes me weak sometimes. my logical hopelessness. I struggle to allow myself to admit that it hurts in an obsessive attempt to condemn my want to love, but is it a need? whatever. I’m not going to listen to that rhythm & blues and songs of the sweetest taboo. it’s ridiculous and I much rather ride the metro and focus on my surroundings than looking into my pocket mirror to cover what’s leaking from the windows to my soul.

right now. I’d rather be safe, than feel sorry.

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