Inappropriate

My heart does not know what is appropriate. One does not call his ex to ask her how she’s doing, to tell her how he has missed her terribly. One buries desires like that under layers of stoic self-control. Moving through life with grace, never looking back in fear of being dragged by the demons of one’s past. Muttering into the emptiness messages that no carrier will ever deliver. Turn it into itself that useless love. Fold it, press it, make it disappear. At least for the day. Tomorrow all this starts anew. For my heart does not know what is appropriate.