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 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.
Bij het inpakken van mijn kaders besefte ik dat ik nooit een tekening v u ga kunnen ophangen. That would have been my birthday wish. That one day you’d spontaneously start drawing something and decide: “this is for her.” I was jealous of the girl in your drawings.
I heard you today. Hurray for voice chatrooms, I guess. I shouldn’t have, but I did it anyway. I’m sorry, I lied about no more stalking. The forbidden fruit was too inviting.
It seems you are living your life just fine.
I wonder how many days it’ll take until you’ve completely forgotten about me.
I wonder whether I’ll ever get the reply you said you were going to give.
Every day my doubt grows.
But every day I still catch myself thinking about you.
I still calculate you in my life when I’m thinking about my new apartment. How to place my furniture. How to fix the problem with the steps in front of the stairs. Wondering whether your wheelchair will fit through the bathroom door.
And I don’t even know you’ll ever enter that apartment.
Let alone enter my life again.
I still believe you will. I don’t think you’ve completely erased me from your memory yet. But hearing you today, my doubt grows. You seem to be doing just fine. Since you never adapted your life for me anyway. So it’s easy.
I keep hoping.
Because you said “It’s a lot”. But you never said “It’s too much”.
I keep hoping.
And I keep hoping.
And I keep hoping.
I must be out of my mind. Oh wait.
I was so proud of my wall. High, fortified, inpenetrable. It had required years of building, layer by layer, each centimeter the result of hurt and disappointment. And yet there you were, breaking down chunks of my wall, with me standing there, gawking in awe. Well actually no. You pried your way into my confidential documents with your charming diplomatic ways until I gave you a map to a secret passage. Because I didn’t feel like tearing down years of hard labour, and yet wanted to give you special privileges. Since apparently you knew a thing or two about how to build the finest intricate constructions, and we were both intrigued at each other’s end results. After awhile, you didn’t need the map anymore; you figured out the correct passage way, and if you wanted, you knew the way even in the dark. Or I’d hang up torches, since for some reason I longed to guide you.
You were more hesitant on becoming allies, so you only gave me some shreds of paper. But I told you I liked a challenge, so I spent hours at night, trying to solve the puzzle with the scraps you gave me. Unfortunately for you, I’m great at solving puzzles. When I seemed to be less of an enemy, I was sent a few more pieces, and I could slowly figure out the shape of your wall. You cautiously guarded the most vital parts close to you, but in my persistent ways I managed to wriggle them out of your hands. I found out you didn’t have a secret passage, but that there was a weakness in your construction: I could try and dig underneath your wall. Curious and persistent as I was, I took my shovel, and when the guards turned their backs, I started digging. But with every scoop of earth I removed, I became more of a threat to your closed-off kingdom. You realized you didn’t want me in your kingdom; you were even doubting whether you even wanted to continue our alliance. And so you ordered the construction of underground fortifications. I stubbornly pressed on with the digging, wounding my hands, arms, face with your spikes. My shovel broke. But still I continued, my hands doing the digging. When all of the sudden my fingers felt a hard surface. I was wrong. Your walls didn’t have a weakness: even from below they were impenetrable.
(Raw draft; work in progress.)