Black Is My Happy Color @notpsychotic - Tumblr Blog

They say you never know when you might see someone for the last time.

But I knew. I knew when I walked in that it was goodbye. I knew when I left you would be gone.

I knew it was the last time and it changed nothing.

“But I don’t understand, I’d fight any war for you,” she panted.

“That’s the whole point. You have loved me unconditionally and never once did I ask you to. Never once did life force you to prove it. I made no such declarations. And yet fate has forced me to forge myself in the fires of your affection. I’ve battled for you and not once did I want to,” she ripped out.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s easy to say the words when you don’t have to live them. I’m saying I never said them at all and here I am screaming the consequences.”

I have often felt as something other,

But no categories contain my identity.

No metaphors sit right on my bones.

No birds of the same feather.

I am alone.

A singular existence.

Except I’m constantly surrounded.

Like birds in a flock, but I’m not a bird.

I can’t fly and they all know it.

I have poetry in my soul.

But I am no poet.

And my soul flew away long ago.

I didn’t tell you this, because I wanted you to love me.

I told you this, because I wanted you to understand why I didn’t love you.

It’s easier to talk about the pain with someone that didn’t experience it. It’s easier to let the words out we never share with someone that was there. Because we talk about it with someone that has that same hurt, the pain compounds a little, the mutual grief can become suffocating. But when we talk about it with someone that doesn’t know, they take a little bit of the pain with them and it’s not so heavy anymore

We sat next to each other, sipping our wine.

She told me “I’m not sure why this is happening to you, but I know somewhere beneath all this pain is a reason”

I wanted to scoff, maybe laugh, or rage. Instead I let the salt continue to leak down my face and took another gulp from my glass.

“There’s a lesson in this.”

A lesson. This heartbreak is supposed to make me better. Your death an opportunity for me to transform myself into something better. Because apparently I needed to lose you to grow myself.

It’s been a year. I’m still crying and drinking wine. And I still don’t know the reason.

My tears just leave salt behind, no epiphanies. I haven’t found any messages in the bottom of my wine bottles. And the only thing I know for sure is that I no longer have you to explain it to me.

I’m not sure when it happened but somewhere along this road, life taught me it was better to be a little bit mean and funny than nice and vulnerable. People tend to not cut things that might cut back. It’s better for the world to laugh at my jokes than to make me one. So here I stand, with a smirk on my lips and not an honest friend in sight.

I like myself better when I’m a little wine drunk, not sure what that says about me.

I think it’s easier to be there for someone else’s pain. Because you can borrow it for a few hours, ease some of the weight, but you don’t have to keep it. You don’t have to take it with you. You get to give it back before it leaves a permanent mark.

She wasn’t easy to love, but that’s the thing about unconditional love. Easy or hard, you’ll do it anyway.

To know her wasn’t to love her. To know her was to survive her. She was a storm. Brutal with a savage beauty. She raged and wailed, but you couldn’t look away. You’d let her destroy you just to experience her.

But after she left there was beauty in her destruction. A quiet calm that only she could rent on the world through the ferocity of her existence.

I loved you more than you knew what to do with.

It was overwhelming all this extra feeling floating around.

But then it became suffocating. All this extra love had to go somewhere.

So you took it and twisted it. Used it for your own purposes.

Now I don’t care for you at all. But somehow you still have all of my love.

You hold it captive, but I just want to be free.

I wanted to be great. I wanted to be magnificent. I wanted to leave the world breathless.

But I am just me. And I’m tired of that not being enough, especially for myself.

All it took was one day to fuck it all up. Then my decisions spiraled from there. The familiar noose of self sabotage felt like a necklace I forgot I owned. Then I bailed on our plans for next time. Made up another white lie to explain my flakiness. When really I convinced I was soothing my hurt by creating space. I hate that right when I feel like I have everything lined up I start taking every failure personally. Now every delay in answering my messages feels like another wedge of space between us. I’m reading between the lines wondering if you’re pissed I left you hanging, or if you could see through my lies. Or maybe I’m pissed at you for being pissed at me. So now we’re fighting in the silences of our conversations and the spaces in our sentences, but neither of us is truly angry. I’m just sore over past hurts and self deficiencies that have nothing to do with you or the present. But I’m sorry, and it’s not your fault aren’t phrases in my vocabulary. My imagination and my flinch response is quite good though. So I’ll just keep driving this road of self sabotage until either I forgot where I was coming from and who I was leaving behind. Or maybe this time I’ll remember there’s a map under the seat and I’m behind the steering wheel, not my past. I don’t have to be lost anymore.

I feel a little numb again.

People keep asking me what I want, and all I can say is ‘I don’t know’.

Can’t it just be okay to not know what I want. Why do I have to be able to verbalize it.

I don’t think there are words for it anyways.

I want to feel again. I want to be at ease in my soul. Instead I’m just a little numb and please just let that be alright for now.

Because if you keep asking me what I want, the numbness will start to hurt. And I’m so tired of being in pain.

I was drowning and no one seemed to notice.

I wasn’t even sure what I was swimming through anymore, grief, self-loathing, depression, anxiety; it didn’t matter I was dying all the same.

I feel defeated. I’ve been beat down. And normally there’s some scraps I can dredge up to keep me going. But it’s been months since you left me behind. And I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be living for anymore. I’m not sure this world has purpose for me without you in it. I was yours and your were mine. What good is a puzzle piece without a puzzle. No one cares if you can’t see the full picture. So I’m sitting at rock bottom wondering if I’ve fallen down here or I climbed down myself. Does it matter at this point?

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