Ammonia

A warm and tingling sensation has never sought to drive me to madness until recently, when all the little things do is just run tightly on a headship. There was nothing more to think about. Little things like love for all the little people. You cling to the urge, hoping for it to subside on its own, only to balloon into a wave of emotions that no mortal could hope to contain, because all that it is is just a reminder of the salutations of an even greater concern. But the more you insist, the more it endures, until all that is left is the memory of what it once was and should have been.

When Lady walked away the other night, regret overcame me, like I did something so wrong that could never be reconcilable. What did I actually do? And today, of all days, Friday the thirteenth, seeing the birds fly low and fly away, watch bits of my soul be gagged and clutched, for the rest of this early autumn melancholia. It will not overwhelm me to any degree. I hope. Anastasia would wait for me to get decrepit to alleviate some of that salve she applies to herself in the daily. It just can be so overpowering at moments, and I have never had that agony with anyone else. Except maybe She-who-must-not-be-named. The progenitory of all the other stray seeds.