I got a bad habit.
An unsafe train of thought.
Though it seems like an ice age had a grip on my heart.
Even knowing, how things need to be,
Can't seem to convince myself,
There'll never be you and me.

Finding projects to indulge in,
Or I'll find a book to read,
But in a love weakened moment,
I get lost so helplessly.

I've been in this "finding myself" pattern,
Thinking more delicately,
Because I need to know the truth,
About the way I see things.

Were we bonded by trauma, or was it all ever real.
It's a huge undertaking, to figure out the way I feel.
I know it's possible that as I learn to process my grief,
It makes me question my decisions and review my relief.

When...