I miss you everyday.
I think of you all. the. time.
Everything reminds me of you.
My joys, my sorrows and my love. My love.
My heart is weighing so heavy.
My pillow remains damp and yearns for drier nights.
I don’t know what’s going on with me.
You fucked with my mental.
Every time I think I’m over you, I relapse and my heart falls from taller heights. Plunging, diving and shattering to the ground. It’s brutal. But I’m hooked and high on the prospect of reaching new heights.
I somehow manage to pick myself up, gather the shreds I have left and try the up climb again, and again, and again.
Higher and higher and higher.
I must summit.
I know nothing about climbing or endurance or strength or resilience. But I’m a quick learner and I pride myself in that.
I don’t understand how youre both (1) dead weight AND (2) yet somehow you’ve already peaked. Staring down at me. Chuffed cause you’ve surpassed me, beat me to it and dusted me. You’ve moved on from us faster than I have. I get it. You’ve proven your point. Which I didn’t care about. What I care about is your lack of remorse. I’m lifting the parts of you that still reside in me. Bruises and all. In some sick way, I enjoy it. I hate that I’m considerate enough to deal with your soreness and not interrupt your climb. I’ve even helped you out. Strong woman indeed. I put on a brave face, if I do say so myself.
What hurts most is that you’re the only one who knows this side of the mountain I’m on. This cliff. Our spot. You’re the only one who’s aware of how tragic this is for me. The only one who can send the help I need because the real tragedy isn’t the climb or the falls nor the injuries, it’s the fact that I want you to be the one to strap me to your harness, to be the first who aids me or just acknowledge my suffering damn it. Even a caring glance down at me or a mere tugging at me would suffice. Even if you played pretend. You kept saying “we both need to heal in our own ways. Triumph over our adversities. To be accountable for one’s own doings and to find ourselves, alone and separate from each other”. Are you that self reclusive? Self righteous? Self idek atp. What.ever. I’m keeping a safe distance as promised. I’m staying back. I’ll land on my feet as hard as that is.
The thought of you knowing that I’m struggling, grappling with your remnants is enough to make me cut you loose but I just haven’t been able to bring myself to it. I hate that about me. It’s not the earnestness I think it is. You did. Easily. Literally stared me dead in the eye and cut me loose. Heck, I don’t think you even flinched. I think you grinned a little when you said “to love is to let go”.
I must confess, half the time I’m not even sure the weight I’m lifting is you or just an illusion of who I thought you were. I don’t trust my feelings. I never have. This is my kryptonite: self-doubt. Imagine the world I’d experience if I could just soar into the open air. Free of the burdens of fear, humiliation and deep despair. Im ashamed that I loved you so tenderly only to be sliced into pieces. Mushed to death. That I trusted your feelings to be mine. Or mine yours. Which is worse, God only knows. How stupid of me. The funny thing is, I always had an inkling that you’d do this to me. Steer me into the wild and abandon me. Alas, here i am. Dangling. Too proud and ashamed to call out to anyone.
I think I’m just attached to you (in my own sick way). You’re clearly not attached to me. Or maybe, I’m just too afraid to admit that I do love you because then I’d be admitting to an even greater defeat: loss.
Self sabotage?
Anyway, I’ll stop here for now and share a longer version if I feel up to that.