An ode to the passage of time, and the sobering reality of personal growth.

Every day, she haunts my waking thoughts.
A dream within reality, taking center stage in a twisted play.
I see what could have been, what should have, and yet within moments it all comes crashing down, destined to repeat in a cyclical and disturbing fashion.
Pervading worlds beyond the physical, invading dreams and memories is something she's become good at, even if involuntarily.
We don't fight. We sit and we speak. As if nothing ever happened. As if we never fed off of each other's anger. Never capable of becoming the twisted caricatures of anger and destructive ineptitude that our real world selfs had transfigured themselves into. It becomes maddening to the mind, in an all too familiar ballroom display.
Waking up to the mundane and the miserable familiarity of loneliness is a fate unbefitting of even the worst of mankind. We are social creatures, longing for the animalistic comforts in those who we find familiarity and safety with. Destructive and mentally devastating though it had been, she was comfort in a lonely world. This woman was the ubiquitous glimmer in a sea of darkness, casting her own shadows just as well as I did. And yet the darkness, maddening and all consuming, was what brought us together, bound by the eternal hellfire our continued existence together brought. But if there was a choice in the matter, and it all boiled down to a come back or stay put decision? Judging by the intricately woven displeasure growing across our readers faces, the answer, as downtrodden and disheartening to think about, is quite clear.