it's about this time of year that i walk with a hollow face around the card isle, serching for the right words to send to my husband. it used to be so easy. i could pick up any card and sign my name all over it's sappy goodness. now i stand there reading, getting snippy, and trying so hard not to cry over my loss of confidance in our love. remembering with every loving word, how you just gave our love to another so willingly, like some kind of cheap trinket. and it breaks my heart all over again. some how "i found a love that's all mine" and "our love is sacred" don't apply to me anymore. instead of filling me with happyness and complete joy, they bring me to my knees cutting and hacking at my very soul. so here's  to you casanova. happy valentine's day. you are a murderer. and i hate you. 

the light from the screen of my computer illuminates my face and i'm alone in the dark again. a scene far to repetative for my taste. everything is as cold as the metal i have come close to these last months. everything seems to run together into this black around me, this dark heavy cloak. i want to feel again. to gaze into someone elses eyes with the wonder and deep down happiness that fairytales are made of. i need to be loved and fully enjoyed. i thought i had that once, yet, when i was away he found another. i wanted to belive i could repair the fracture, but there was no more feeling. love is fleeting. love is a destructive demon wrapped in pretty packaging. we set aside a day for it every year and it rampages the land leaving broken promises, hearts, and dreams. it keeps us suspended in blended torture a mixture of pleasure and pain, and kills us. slowly decaying us from the inside out. why do i long for this death? will it be at your hands?