Category: love

I wrote this bout 2/3 weeks ago at around 2/3am. Sitting awake. Thinking about the same old things. Love. You. I thought I’d complete it when the events actually took place (or didn’t take place. SPOILER: they didn’t). But I came to the conclusion that it is. And if I add to it later? Then I do. But for now. It’s finished….

I told everyone that my anniversary was the measurement on which to gauge our future. Or lack thereof. And as I sit here longing for you to reach out I can see the empty pages in our book begin to disintegrate. Our story has truly ended. Unfinished and unfulfilled. Nothing left to write. Revising and editing isn’t possible. Just reading and reliving the memories. Good and bad. The Love will always remain. What we were. What we are. What we could have been. Our future fading away on empty pages.

I deleted your contact. It’s the only way I’d be sure not to contact you. Cuz I surely want to call you. Text you. (I’ve staved off emailing. I’ve close come though). About everything. About nothing. Heard some music you NEED to hear. But now it’s all mine. I can’t even share. Should I even share it? Is it ok? Is it right? Does any of this shit even matter? I found some gifs you absolutely need. Some hilarious pictures. PUNS!! Many feels to express. I went thru it waaaaay rougher than I was willing to admit to anyone. Myself included. Now I’m back on track. But once again I don’t feel on track. Not without you. It’s back to doing everything I’m supposed to be doing and what I was supposed to be for myself and for you, now that you’re gone. It doesn’t matter. Except that it does. Always has. Always will. Everything matters. It’s always about me. Even when it’s about you. It’s about me. Cuz doing for me was doing for you. I’m without a doubt the dumbest smartest person ever. This might be a lesson that fucks me up til I drop. In the meantime I’ll be a ghost. Until one day I find your contact and hit that button. I’m willing to bet I get nothing. But it can happen, right? Love is patient, Love is kind, only when you’re not hitting it recklessly with a sledgehammer without regard for the damage you’re doing. Otherwise Love is a bitch like life. And you have to pick up what pieces remain and make do. Maybe we can make ourselves whole and reconnect to fill the void we left. Or maybe we just damaged it too much to repair. I don’t care. I’ll be back for you. Even in rejection I’ll be whole, as I’ll have finally earned the crown you placed upon my head long ago.