Here, for all of you I present a wonderfully edited and well thought out project.
Enjoy.
I can’t help but think.
Morgan Le Kander
“A love like that was a serious illness, an illness from which you’ll never entirely recover.”- Charles Bukowski. It just is. Slowly it causes me to nitpick through myself, and so I see it through the eyes of a cynical woman. As I slowly succumb to the idea, the idea of love being this serious illness. An illness that seeps into a person’s soul and sends them spiraling down into a state of pallor. From that first glance, an exchange of smiles. Then we traded the sparks in our eyes for these flames in our hearts growing with time as we sat in parks. And these flames grow hot, singeing our skin. When I realize, love hurts. Then I’m wondering what cancer feels like, for I feel that it must be something like this. These cells inside of me, dividing and growing, growing and dividing. There’s no cure, no script to teach me to stop loving, no directions to make this end. This cancer is contagious. This is why we are all sick. I sound bitter, but in truth… it’s just the meds. Small orange pills that send my mind careening into hallways, leading this cynical women to doors, which behind hide all the answers, to why I so hate love. But even that is a lie, because I love every tear that falls down my face as I am destroyed by the very thought of falling, falling… for you. My fear of losing this feeling that rids of me of clear thoughts and tosses me, quite violently, into these torturous endeavors. But I don’t mind,
I am caught in the moment.
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