Fragmented Blood-Pumping Organs

Here it comes.
The pain that knifes through me, the hardening of my heart, the burn of unshed tears in the basement gloom.
I am sad to see the red go. I need to stop but I can’t. It’s autumn and I’m hanging onto the train platform by my fingernails before the train revs up and takes off for an indefinite period of time. The familiar pain is raw in my stomach. Oh what it is to be living beneath masks, even when my truest light (or rather absense of) shines brightly at anyone that dares to look.
Smiling beneath sunshine seems like a lifetime ago. I can’t help thinking that everything feels so wrong. My soul may be dormant until your return.
Or at least that’s how it feels to me at this present moment.
The one person who can talk me out of almost anything is miles away. The one who has recalled my soul from the pits of Hell for the longest time is nowhere near. Is this a test? Or just a means to an end? What happens when I need a hug..like right now? Next best thing I suppose. I’ve been living with "the next best thing" for far too long. I’m still living with it. It’s slowly ripping a seam down the middle of my heart, but there are no other choices.

I’m just rambling.
love
Amanda