Death Is a Comic Relief

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I’ve come to realize something. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe just maybe I’m wrong, but what if I’m right? We never learn from mistakes, mistakes learn from us. I’ve come to realize. If I’m wrong, then, I’m right.

It comes a time when we cry on things that don’t really matter. Not that they don’t. They do. It’s just that it kills and we end up dying before our death day. When such times beckons at you, tell me, do you surrender and die or fight and die?

Life is comic. When you love how you want, they say you’re simping. Take me to a loving school. Tell me love is just a makeshift story, a fairytale, surreal. Tell me fantasizing skills. After you’re done, I’ll love her over and over. That’s how I want it to be. She’s a stranger I know. You too. Love yours.

Death is a comic relief. I’ve died repeatedly when my heart skipped a bit to accommodate her. I’m here. Dead inside. Longing for her touch.


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