Word of the Day - Anguish
Anguish: v. Be extremely distressed about something.
That’s a funny word right? Anguish... You stand on the wrong side of a door emblazoned with neon directions for everyone but you... and you feel anguish.
That’s a funny word right? Anguish... You stand on the wrong side of a door emblazoned with neon directions for everyone but you... and you feel anguish.
You consider yourself a master of wordplay when you’re me. Not in a Shakespearean sense, but a master of saying exactly what You know will make them laugh, make them think, make them cry. And when you’re me, you say these things because you believe them.
“I feel nothing,” you say.
Not realizing you’re sensitive to a pin dropping on your emotions. Not realizing that what could’ve been a moment to learn and grow, is instead a moment you’ll think about for the rest of your life. And you feel anguish.
They’ve got you pegged, right? A list of “ists” longer than your arm...
Narcissist and
Fatalist and
Egotist and
Ist and
Narcissist and
Fatalist and
Egotist and
Ist and
Ist and
Ist.
At what point do you become a realist? You think this, the neon placard searing her handwriting into the back of your mind forever. And you feel anguish.
You’re not to be believed. Sure your hearts on your sleeve, but you have two sleeves don’t you? The other’s covered in venom laced vitriol you aim at anyone you think has slighted you. Strangers, friends, family... Lovers. If you could only control who it hits, who it hurts, you’d be fine. But you’re ambidextrous and the arm that shoots forward seems to never be the one the moment calls for. And you feel anguish.
Ist.
At what point do you become a realist? You think this, the neon placard searing her handwriting into the back of your mind forever. And you feel anguish.
You’re not to be believed. Sure your hearts on your sleeve, but you have two sleeves don’t you? The other’s covered in venom laced vitriol you aim at anyone you think has slighted you. Strangers, friends, family... Lovers. If you could only control who it hits, who it hurts, you’d be fine. But you’re ambidextrous and the arm that shoots forward seems to never be the one the moment calls for. And you feel anguish.
You think you know yourself. But the other side of that door sees something others have seen before. Someone loathsome. Someone vile. Someone wretched.
Someone...
Someone...
Someone...
Anyone but who you think you are. But you’re not just anyone. You’re a wordsmith. Not to be believed. Not to be forgiven. Not to be trusted. And she, on the other side of that door is not to be with you on this side. Not anymore.
You know what will make them laugh, make them think, make them cry. But what you don’t know, what you will never know again? The words that pave the road back to her heart. And you feel anguish.
Someone...
Someone...
Someone...
Anyone but who you think you are. But you’re not just anyone. You’re a wordsmith. Not to be believed. Not to be forgiven. Not to be trusted. And she, on the other side of that door is not to be with you on this side. Not anymore.
You know what will make them laugh, make them think, make them cry. But what you don’t know, what you will never know again? The words that pave the road back to her heart. And you feel anguish.
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