Is it finally the end of the end o merely the beginning of
something in which I play no part, she floating in and out on a dark cloud she
blames me for creating, the other man she said she hates when other men come
and go in and out of her life unmolested, this end of what was and what could
have been, my fingers unable to keep hold of it, perhaps even pushing it
further away, scared to death of it, of her, of the power she potentially had
over me to make me do whatever she pleased, a puppet on a string, a herkie jerky
man, even now, even at the end, even when I know I ought to know better, needing
to feel the strings, to let her finger do what they wish, all gone in a flash,
a cheap magic trick and I feel cheated, when it is clear, I cheated myself.
Is this finally the end or the beginning of something I will
never comprehend, never understand fully, who she is, what she wants, what she
needs from me, from the world, and not knowing what I don’t know, and it’s
killing me
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