Solipsist As A Victim Of Unrequited Love

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Existing is hard. I feel you existing in the heat coming off your skin and I touch your hands, close the distance. Skin is skin. Synapse after synapse snaps and I am heady with the reality of it all. "The pure present is an ungraspable advance of the past devouring the future." Never have I yearned so closely for a next moment and a new sensation, and my dreams are starved for all your possibility. But you take your hand away. Skin is skin. I feel something in me detach itself and you don't even know that this has happened. I breathe deeply and close my eyes. I forget that you exist and you disappear; slowly, like the final chord of the saddest song.

I have always been alone.

The End

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