Options

I feel like I have two options at this point: 1) Let her consume me and my thoughts to the point of obsession until she’s mine, feeling that unrequited longing the old poets wrote about. 2) Kill it off. Kill the feelings and thoughts and memories and hopes until there’s nothing left. No memory. No regret. Nothing.

Options rephrased: 1) Drink and find something meaningless to fill the void. 2) The death of what I’ve struggled for years to believe in again — the very thing I found in her.

Or maybe, just maybe, I can put these thoughts aside and keep living knowing that even if this is as good as it gets, then I've got it pretty good.

You're a door without a key, a field without a fence
You made a holy fool of me, and I've thanked you ever since
And if she comes circling back, we'll end where we'd begun
Like two pennies on the train track the train crushed into one

Or if I'm a crown without a king, if I'm a broken, open seed
If I come without a thing, then I come with all I need
No boat out in the blue, no place to rest your head
The trap I set for you seems to have caught my leg instead