I’m afraid I’d take you back the second you asked me to.
I have difficulty letting you go today again. How are you doing with your life?
I’m torn between wanting you to write me, and not wanting it because I’m afraid of what you might have to say.
That your life is going great and that you may have found the love of your life.
I -want- -you- to be happy, but… my heart is still torn to pieces thinking about you with someone else. I’m sorry, I can’t yet.
Maybe it’s better if we don’t talk yet.
Why did you have to make such an impact on me?
I miss you.
Happy birthday to me.
Even after knowing and reminiscing all that has been said, the stabbing pain in your heart hasn’t diminished whenever you see him fooling around with other women who apparently make everything more “comfortable” by loving him less or not at all (but hey, at least you’re going out, which you refused with me, so thumbs up!1!). Or like the explanation for it went: “There are different degrees in love.” Right. I call it being afraid of love and running away from responsibilities and people who genuinly (and not conveniently) care. Like living inside your own game where you can create a new character each time you feel like it, or switch to a new server, and get the thrill of a new adventure all over again, instead of having to maintain what you had built up. Or let me put it in ARK-nerdspeak: being around grinders and stone-fetchers and working on your base rapidly gets too boring so without consulting first you go about as you please and restart on a new server yet again because then you don’t have to fix the mess you made on the previous one.
Maybe that ARK miniature I gave you (perhaps you don’t even remember you have it, or maybe you already threw it out) was a then-unknown symbol for our doomed relationship. It arrived too late, was too small, you didn’t seem happy to have it and it’s a bird about to fly off. *laughs*
I do wonder if you ever respawned and after awhile realized you regretted erasing the previous game. But to each their own. Moon, stars, you know my quote.
Besides, more love to give to the next one who’s gonna break my heart, right?
Captain Mirks, or simply “Shim” when your flame diminished, you were my safe haven, with your apartment as my favourite ship, but its fickle storms have damaged me too much. Maybe one day I’ll happily return as an ally, but for now the waves are still too high. Until we meet again at the shoreline.
I am a failure.
My chest is aching, my eyes hurt from crying and I have trouble breathing.
This carefully built shell is breaking, and because the inside is hollow, I’ll have nothing left.
The new life I’m working so hard on is crumbling down and I don’t have the strength to prevent it.
I can’t go through this a second time.
I currently don’t see the point of living anymore. I don’t want to sound gloomy, but I really don’t feel like my life has a purpose or that it’s leading me somewhere. I just exist, no more no less.
I will keep on living to spare my parents the grief of losing their child, but if it wasn’t for them, I don’t think I’d find an other reason to keep walking this planet. I have nothing special, peculiar to give this world.
Like I said, I will keep on living for the sake of my parents, but that’s about it. There is no joy, no goal. I lost everything. I am an empty shell. I am alive yet lifeless.
This is it: I am not going to feel anything anymore.
I give up.
I was doing alright.
And then suddenly I wasn’t anymore.
You are out, enjoying yourself. I’m crying, cannot bear any company.
Wow, you sure cared about me, I can tell.
I’m tired of it all. Too tired. I don’t want to fight anymore, I don’t want to defend you anymore. I don’t want to go to Ikea and think about the time you promised we’d go together one day anymore.
I cannot fight anymore, I’m too tired.
Teach me how you erased me from your thoughts so fast.
Please leave my heart. You never wanted to inhabit it anyway.
It’s funny how it creeps up on you. How you are managing to keep yourself busy the entire day, when all of the sudden you find yourself thinking about the things you so desperately wanted to avoid thinking about.
Evenings are the trickiest, when blank moments interfere with the carefully planned out schedule to keep your mind occupied. When it’s quiet in-between music tracks and drops of sadness scatter over your body, a sense of longing interweaving itself with tiredness and old memories. You stare at your computer screen and no matter how hard you try, you cannot shut the door to barricade the flood of emotions washing over.
I cannot help but hope you are missing me as much as I’m missing you. That somehow, I managed to make an impact on your life, and that you are starting to feel a certain void I left. I hope that you, too, have these moments where you catch yourself thinking about me, and that no matter what, you cannot help but -feel-.
It creeps up on me, this desire. No matter how I try to fool the world that it isn’t, it’s still there. This desire for you to come back. This desire for you to want me back. This desire to mean more than your friends, more than your comfort zone.
I still desire to accomplish what your exes couldn’t fantom: breaking through your unpenetrable walls.
And thus, it’s the realization I failed, and that someone else might succeed, that is slowly poisoning me with its ink black tentacles.
It creeps up on you slowly, until you’re fully engulfed, and the black suffocates you.