Love never dies a natural death. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness and errors and betrayals. It dies of illness and wounds; it dies of weariness, of witherings, of tarnishings.
Anaïs Nin
Indifference is a deep pit you never stop falling into.
There is no bottom, no boundary to the blackness it can swallow you up into.
Complacence is a danger that you don't feel creeping up.
Without a face, with out a voice.
It seeps into your habit and takes hold, allowing you to mistake the sallow, emaciated shell of what once glittered for acceptable.
I feel like I have been duped.
The amazing has been replaced with an utter annoyance, one I can hardly bear to face.
There is nothing I want more than to get back to that place we said we'd never leave (as every ideological starry eyed does).
We need drastic, we need a revolution.
We need any hint of will.
It can be done.
I have seen the drive from either side.
But it's uncoordinated, and the great joy of one to quell any resolve the other may harbor unequally.
We're treading water and getting nowhere.
I'm starting to wonder why we stay in this miserable station.
Waiting for the other to initiate change, just to have the opportunity to be the first to attack.
It's not an absence of love, it's an overwhelming defense.
One that can viably snuff out all life.
And may very well do so.
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