This situation is not
poetic.
It is like hearing the wedding bells in broken glass.
It is like seeing the red flags through red shades.
It is like the lies told in every myth and fairytale.
This situation is inevitable
and the means
to an even
less poetic
end.
So I end it.
The End.
How overtly simple.
I will forever wonder about several versions of “what if” and “what when”
But I regret nothing.
Logic was my main factor. And logic was my safety net.
“It was a means to an end”
This means to me what will always be/would become a gloriously harmonious end.
So I end it--the way I end it.
I say he’ll be alright because he will and I will and it isn't that serious and at the time it was easy.
It was very easy.
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