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Sometimes I find myself in quiet moments of silence where there is too much to do.

The dishes need to be washed.

I should really go out running.

The book I ordered is at the store ready to be picked up.

Laundry needs to be done.

I have to drop off my friends stuff.

And yet for the past two weeks not much has been accomplished.

Depression, what a funny thing you are. You consume me in my weakest moments reminding me constantly of a boy whom I once loved.

"Darling," you whisper sweetly in my ear, "Don't leave me, I love you. I love you. I love you. I am so sorry."

In my moments of weakness I sigh as I think of your caress, your fingers lightly tracing my spine, your kisses and promises of a better future one day-

Ah that's right, there were no promises.

Yet not you beg, you plead, you scream at the top of your lungs you will love no other. That you will come see me.

How? Magic? Sorcery? Do you think me stupid? Are you attempting to play me for a fool once again? Do you remember the final time I left? You were shunned by my family and my broken heart was tossed aside by none other than myself. You had freaked out days earlier after I asked if you really mean you would never leave me, freaked out that I wanted marriage when it was the last thing from my mind.

Now it is you that disgusts me.