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.