If there was any pain in your eyes when I said "goodbye", I did not see it. I could not bear to make contact with those baby blues. I couldn't bear to see your soul as I ripped it from you. We are one thing. One broken mass of flesh. I called you on my cellular phone and I said the words "this is finished", and from far away I made you cry. I stretched my magician's spell across the spectral satellites and screamed at you obscenities, and you felt alone. And now I feel alone. It was black magic, baby. These are the days of miracles and wonders and we cried amidst them. We are alone and we always will be in this big ancient everything. I'm saying that I am sorry. That I have regrets. That everything lasts forever. That we are still together, in pain, that they are still together, in death, that I am still together, in pieces. I lied to you the day I met you. I said that I live for form and not for function, that I am aesthetically bound to my mind's eye. But you saw through my bullshit, and you loved me in spite of it, and I broke your heart in defense of it, knowing you could see. I am ashamed and I am sorry. I need things. I need things that work. I like things to fit and mix but they also must perform. And I broke this working thing, you and me, us. And I think souls are like polymers. You can't melt them back together, no matter how hot things get. This is the beginning of something perfect.


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