I want to know if falling in love always feels like an accident, something that happened without your noticing, like tripping in the dark and suddenly finding yourself on your knees with only the fall between unwatched for to mark the passage. I want to know if falling out of love always feels more like a crawl desperate and uncertain so drenched in backward glances that at times it feels like doing the moonwalk half-calloused on asphalt. I want to know if it is necessary or unavoidable to fall into hate just to rid yourself of love. If we have to drag ourselves over and over bare flesh against graveled pathways across the same losses and letdowns just to find a way to make ourselves believe enough that this thing which was once so good is no such thing at all. Must we fill every point at which we or other faltered with malicious intent? History re-written the apple polished poisoned to a shine and every edge ground to a fine point that we might cut ourselves against them paper-cut thin and paper cut pain until we find a way to white-out black-out, grey wash history or bleed to death rehashing the past trying to be reborn.