Something impalpable stays

since the day it happened.

It is endearing and yet enslaving.

But no, it does not matter then,

nor does it matter now.

Nothing matters.

But why?

Everything seems to become nothing to me

since the day it happened.


------------------------------------
Like this.....

"I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought.
I mourn the lover, not lament the fault.
I view my crime, but kindle at the view.
Repent old pleasures and solicit new."

"How shall I lose the sin and yet keep the sense?
And love the offender, yet detest the offence?
How the dear object from the crime remove,
or how distinguish penitence from love?

An unequal task! A passion to resign,
For hearts so touched, so pierced, so lost as mine.
Before such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain ---- Do all things but FORGET."

Sorry for sounding cliche.

Thaz me.

Maybe it happens to everyone once in a while.