(Guys, this is my first-ish prose poem! So… comment with thoughts???)

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I just can’t get over it.

And I know you don’t know what ‘it’ is, but I do, and I already know it won’t matter to you, anyway. And, no, I’m not talking about the sequel to the “It” movie franchise that just premiered two weekends ago.

I’m talking about, you know, the thing I was supposed to forget about around five years ago. (I’m using ‘you know’ as an expression of common English speech, now, by the way, because we already established that you actually don’t know.)

It’s the thing that I repressed for months at a time until I just physically couldn’t anymore and gave in to temptation.

Repression and temptation… god, is this like a drug addiction to me now? 

(Let’s make this clear, though, it’s not like crystal methamphetamine that I can just DIY with stuff from CVS, but it’s also not like a doctor-written script of oxycodone that someone else supplies me with every month.)

So, it really comes down to resistance and prescriptions, doesn’t it? 

It’s just so hard to to put to rest. Not, like, in the sense of animal euthanasia, but, honestly, I just watched this show yesterday where an old lady hoarded so many cats that she literally killed half of them with kindness, and the other half had to get put down by the humane society anyway.

Now, am I going to end up eventually killing this thing with my attention? Or is someone else going to intervene and take it from me before I get that deep?

Only god knows, now, I suppose. And, you know, it could just be all apart of the big cosmological plan for humankind, or something along those lines.

Speaking of which, I should check my horoscope in this month’s issue of Cosmo.

I want you to know I’ll try, but…

I just can’t get over it.

I just can’t get over you.

–Kari