ms. feelgood

You make me feel good. But then again, that is what you do, isn't it? You are a professional purveyor of good feelings.

You make me happy but it isn't real and I have to keep reminding us just how much it is not real. Maybe you are as strong as you seem, but I would rather avoid complexities. We are here for each other now and I hope it is enough. As you said, this may be the only role I will ever play in your life, to snap you back to reality; and if that is so, I will never be unhappy to call up your memory.

But for now, for tonight, in this hour, I am only haunted by doubt and if you weren't sleeping right now you would see only a sad face. Somehow, I know you will not change. And perhaps this is what causes me the greatest pain. Because I know you will disappointment me once again, even as I push forward, with the purest of intentions. I know you will trample my hopes and probably a little piece of my heart (though that is nothing new these days).

But that seems to be my lot these days. I am a martyr, a benefactor, the grand saint of hopeless causes, of hostages who don't want to be rescued. I give my care freely. The well of my heart feels bottomless and the pain of disappointment is minor, relentless and constant. And in my boredom, I can do nothing else but give and give and give.