When conscious

So lovely Betty. Hard when the other person wants to wake from the dream.
I loved your poem.

Thank you my sweet friend

There’s such a dichotomy of emotions here.

Firstly, the view of the other party in the relationship - that they saw it as something comatose. A blank thing. Without thought. It was something still.  

And then we move on to the other half of the relationship. Seen through the eyes of something vivid, something dreamlike and abstract, and without walls.  

The two paired together tells this unique story that isn’t seen from the outside.  

I did however find the placement of the brackets interesting. As if even you wasn’t sure if you would call it love at all. But something that could only be defined by our limited terms.  

You’re smashing them out the park lately, lady. Loving it.  

Thank you for sharing.  

-M

I love you Missy.

Thank you.

In its briefness, you are able to fully convey each side of the coin.

Thank you.

The simpler the line the sharper the blade.

I’ve fallen on it, my sweet friend, and I think the blade finally gutted me enough to stop brandishing it.

Grief step no. 2.

Dear B,

Oh dear B! Heartache is just the pits. When you write your stories it’s such a help. The metaphor of the coma was wonderful. Being numb, for me, because you’re tingling with love is great. But when I’m the only one tingling and my significant other isn’t, well let’s just say H gets put back in her box. Not a single word wasted in this piece. There’s so much beauty amidst its heartbreak. H🌷

Uuuuuggghhhhh.

Just. Like.  

Yeah

Everything comes full circle. What you went through then, I am going through now. What I went through then, you are experiencing now. At least in your art, in your poetry. One big fucked up star cluster or whatever the crystal crowd calls it. But you know what, I no longer read what you have to say, I experience them. And this one feels familiar.

Love,

Nerd.

Omg! Ugly?!

Don’t make me cry, man, I love you too much to have to kick you in the dick for making me cry

Hey.

I’m sorry you get it

It’s pretty much like dying on the inside and letting your shell sort of meander through life on your behalf.

I understand being a husk, because there just isn’t much other than agony and numbness. Thank god I’m perky, and can mask like a motherfucker!

Sending good vibes your way, ugly.

With all the dust and ash, being lachrymose once in a while might just lubricate your eyes and get rid of the pollutants. See now I am a middle-aged, slightly overweight rationalist. :-*

"Letting your shell meander on your behalf." FUCK. I have used a similar line at least ten times this year to describe stuff. This moment is such a bitch: a part of me is relieved that you get it, which makes me feel less alone. And a part of me feels what slowly bleeding to death must feel like after knowing that you have suffered.

I am glad you are perky, baby. Oh, and the masks are stellar. Mask or otherwise, I love you. I am glad we can stop by each other's burial sites and offer our love.

I will always bring daisies to your grave. Always.

That’s what we do.

(Every ten fucking years, but it counts.)

I hope life isn’t a total bag of shit for you! And if it is, I offer this random lasciviousness:  I’m a sucker for a dad bod and someone to trigger my daddy issues so you’re still a hottie, nerd

I burst out laughing and woke my old man in the next room. Count it does. :))

'' To you,
we lived in  
a coma
from which
it was time  
to awake ''

Phenomenal insight indeed!!

Thank you