Rejection.. a sting, a real tangible sting in the heart; better, a boot to one's very soul.
It is something someone of my biological and psychological predisposition must live with. We were first acquainted as far back as my memory recalls, and it has made it a mission to assert a presence, a loud unfazed presence in my personal world.
So, then, should I cry now that rejection has once more dealt its sinister card? Should I once more roll up in the confines of my closet and let out a muffled cry, lonely, cold?
Or should I concede, wave the white flag? I think I half have already, having vowed to a life of celibacy only recently.
Maybe that's life; some people are just bound to have but their own mere shoulder to cry on. To wear the same brave face. To share a bed with emptiness, with a fantasy that will never be, till death do us part.
Why did I set myself up for rejection, by giving the one my whole heart, only to be denied, locked out, deprived?
So once more I wince and curse.. to the coming long, lonely, melancholy dusk.
The worst thing about it is that I am now lost, abandoned at a crossroads, with nothing and no one to cling to.
I must once again lick my own wounds, pat my own back, and, to my greatest contempt, mend my own heart.
It is something someone of my biological and psychological predisposition must live with. We were first acquainted as far back as my memory recalls, and it has made it a mission to assert a presence, a loud unfazed presence in my personal world.
So, then, should I cry now that rejection has once more dealt its sinister card? Should I once more roll up in the confines of my closet and let out a muffled cry, lonely, cold?
Or should I concede, wave the white flag? I think I half have already, having vowed to a life of celibacy only recently.
Maybe that's life; some people are just bound to have but their own mere shoulder to cry on. To wear the same brave face. To share a bed with emptiness, with a fantasy that will never be, till death do us part.
Why did I set myself up for rejection, by giving the one my whole heart, only to be denied, locked out, deprived?
So once more I wince and curse.. to the coming long, lonely, melancholy dusk.
The worst thing about it is that I am now lost, abandoned at a crossroads, with nothing and no one to cling to.
I must once again lick my own wounds, pat my own back, and, to my greatest contempt, mend my own heart.
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