Metaphors, similes, analogies. I use them all the time, when I feel like writing here. Part of me just likes to use them. They make me think I'm being a better writer. But another part of me realizes the truth.

I hide behind these constructs. I hide behind them because to do otherwise, like maybe to tell the fucking truth, would be too much.

Too much for me, I mean. You readers are a hardy bunch. And a very patient one.

It was so much easier for me to write about a gorilla, than it was to write that I was in love. It was so much easier to write about a line that we carried with us, than it was to write about how incredibly difficult it was for me to be so close but so far, all the damn time.

It's so much easier for me, right now, to write about this burned bridge, about how the rubble stretches away in front of me, than it is to write that, that, that...

That what?

That the love of my life is no longer the love of my life? That the last six years of my life was for nothing? That the only chance that I have of my life ever seeming worth living is if I never see her or hear from her again? That this is a decision that I've had to make, and a realization that I've had to have, because I've been the only one in a position to do either?

That I was wrong about her. About us?

Fuck that. The light of truth is too bright, sometimes.

That damn bridge. It was shaken and twisted and rocked and rolled, and it got weaker and weaker and weaker and weaker. But it was still there. It fucking stood for something. Something important. Hope, I suppose.

But the final piece of the final beam finally broke, and the entire damn thing collapsed.

And I stand here in shock. I just can't believe that's it's gone. That beautiful destination will forever be unreachable, and maybe, just maybe, it's turned out to be not so beautiful after all.

I'm in a weird mood tonight.