How do I cognitively concoct the crippling cares that encapsulate me? Could I carelessly cast them aside and calculate another way to claw back some pride? My smile is wide but I must confide, it still curls in the curve of my stomach; kicking me when I’m most careless and reminding me of what I lost, and ever since do crave. I can’t work out how to save myself, I'm a slave to my fondest memories. Lacking any real clarity or solidarity, I cling to a tarnished sense of cruel dread. My cynicism has cast me to casually believe that romance is most definitely dead.