Pluto & Persephone: Plutos's Self-Deception

When letters are tucked inside books in between pages that properly explain the events that took place years ago is when you realize that he didn't make the greatest first impressions on others as he did on your heart.

Composition notebooks full of reasons why. Scribbled words only hide the wealth of emotion that took place inside this organ. Hiding the years of pain and ever growing distrust. His lips danced over truths that grew into lies.

You remind me of you. Words structured to form the shape of a boy that couldn't even hold himself up. He tore apart everything he came in contact with and I was too naïve to realize that I was to be next.

He kept me waiting on a hill near a building near a lake that we would always meet at. The wind always blowing hard, passing through our bodies; pulling us further away. The air smelled like the sea but we were nowhere near the oceans. No matter how hard we tried to stay together we should have known we would always be ripping ourselves apart. This is a metaphor, a faint dream, perhaps a wish. You always said you wanted me to wait but the waiting was a form of your secret destruction.

Why is it that everything with you felt like a car crash?
Bodies being strewn across black concrete & hearts choking the throats of the passer-bys. You never say what you mean but you act out the opposite of what you really feel and want. There's a word for you, an explanation of a deceiver who deceives himself. I will call you Sartre.