read (it) and weep

where it is anything heartwrenching,

nervewrecking,
mindblowing,
breathtaking,
heartbreaking.

there is a certain comfortable, gratifying catharsis that comes with emotional response. ask me, i would know. and yet can somebody please tell me why this cynicism that is creeping in like a late, uninvited guest that you purposely left out because the last time the guest was there there was chaos and havoc and you only want silence.

you only want peace.

and it is all well to encapsulate and eternalise that beautifully tragic moment where a family grieves the loss of a son or where the heartbroken man finally accepts that the woman most beautiful to him in the entire world looks at him with sincere nonchalance, this is all well, except, there is the excruciating monotony that happens after

and do you know of that? do you know that there are bills to pay places to go and people to smile at?

heartbreak is an ugly thing. it is pretty in pills that you can ingest at those odd moments you choose to glance away from your fairytale land from. but for the heartbroken, it is endless.

it is in this breath you take.
it is in this breath you take.
it is in this breath you take.

and living becomes less painful than it is embarrassing. for what point is there when they only want more painful pieces from you

tenderloin, or rib's eye?

the connoisseur of sorrow, bon appetit