I am moving to a new blog.
This is the problem of being a sentimental fuck… You associate everything you encounter to his tastes.
It has always been a sore spot for me that you never wore the pullover I had made for you this year’s Valentine’s day.
It will always be one of things that should have alerted me of the status of your heart.
I went back to self-medicating with alcohol. I found that it’s better to feel than to suppress and overthink. I have an issue with overthinking the smallest of details, obsessing over it and even going to lengths to ask people who aren’t involved to verify my assumptions. I am a mess of a person when I’m hurting. And, I’m sorry if you’re part of it.
I still stalk your social media accounts even though I was the one who blocked you. Yes, I did that… out of sheer anger and anguish for what you have done. No, I’m not holding it against you anymore. I’m done being angry at you. I just want you home… with me, safe in my arms. But that’s an impossibility at the moment, see we are at an impasse, detaining us to make an unfortunate choice. We must choose ourselves before we can ever choose each other again. We must lick these wounds that we have inflicted on each other and gather the shrapnel to build ourselves anew. Yes, this is hard. Yes, this is agony. But I am not giving up on you. Not now, not ever. We’ll get through this. And if by chance, we meet and you don’t feel the same way, I’ll do my best to understand. I’ll do my best to be the person you would be proud of and eventually move on. But for now? Let me feel this hunger for your presence, for the touch of your lips on mine, for the soft beating of your heart as I lay on your chest. Allow me to fantasize of our reconciliation and be ready. The “add friend” button is always trying to provoke me yet I dissent for I know you don’t want to hear from me. I know we had our bad days… but all I can remember are the good ones… and there are so many whizzing past me that I sometimes feel lost. I have stopped crying though, if that’s any consolation… yet I mourn still.
I hate how our love used to be so pure, so light and so easy.
Now it tastes neurotic, like poison… with a tinge of lemon because why not.
The quiet from the other end is deafening. I have so much time on my hands now and I don’t know what to do with it. I only see you.