Hero

I am told (most likely a conviction of my own, however) that pain is only illusionary, much like everything else. Yet, this infestation of my mind grows horrible and everything is laid out in gradations of hurt. Since when did these words become the line of command, as though I can replace words with the people I have loved and regrettably lost, possibly forever. I had so much more to say, but when I seek you out it disappears completely. Like the disintegration of my thinning spirit. It will destroy you and me both, whatever I resolve in holding on still