Prisoner of Subjectivity

Prisoner of Subjectivity

Love is not an emotion, it is a decision.

Strange, because everything still seems and feels familiar. I like familiarity; so does everyone else, whether they admit it or not. A good friend of mine once told me that familiarity is comfortable.

Now I am awake but my mind is in a trance-like atmosphere where everything is dull and slow. This is the inability of my mind to make sense of things that are so familiar yet so far away. A vivid clear light washes away the faded snapshots of our perfect togetherness. Even as a prisoner of subjectivity I struggle with words to shield something so speculative. Credence lingers, sensitivity shatters, and it ends entirely in a shadow.

 

prisoner

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