Intricacy of feeling too much; never the luxury of a dull ache
I wanted to talk with you forever. I wanted to remember every word you’ve ever said to me. I wanted to be the person who could visit you as a foreigner goes into a new country, learn the language of you and wander past all borders into every private and secret place.
You would say it’s too soon to feel this way. You would ask how I could be so certain. But some things can’t be measured by time. Ask me a month from now, a year, ten years or a lifetime. I wanted to say that the way I love you will outcast every calendar, clock and every toll of every bell that will ever be cast. But it is perhaps the misfortune of my life that I’ve been interested in far too much that I got blinded by the fact that everything was long gone.
I loved every emotional part of the roller coaster ride you have brought into my life. I loved it even through the changing circumstances and the rapid movement of time. I loved it even when I can no longer formulate those emotions into words the same way it felt to have you rip that all to pieces. I think a part of me still does, but I also got to constantly remind myself that I have to feel better.
“People in this world are going to hurt you. They have and they will.“
Days, weeks and months had elapsed. Life is not like water. Things in life don’t necessarily flow over the shortest possible route. I sounded so desperate that all I did was to hope for you. I drowned myself into so much desperation as if there could be no way for me to stand up and live the kind of life I once had. I got stuck literally every middle of the night when memories still come to me like a bolt of lightning, with my tears as rains, with my dying heartbeat as the sound of the thunder. I asked myself to stop, free myself from sadness, allow time to heal the wounds carved in my heart, forget and move forward. But it’s always easier said than done. You taught me to be happy but you never taught me how to stay happy without you.
I never thought I’d be writing about you in the past tense. I never wanted to. But that was the thing. I never got used to it, the idea of someone being gone. I hate this. I hate knowing what I want, knowing what is right, and knowing they aren’t the same thing. I was wrong for believing that there were things which still mattered just because they had mattered once, when in fact, it was farfetched and the sparks of my heart can no longer light the flame we once had.
You made up your mind without talking to me while I hopelessly and patiently waited for you to tell me we’re okay. The pain of not being a part of your life any longer is excruciating, but I’m becoming used to it. It won’t be a normal day for me if those familiar fringes of hate, longing, and grief do not devour my insides. They are now an inseparable fraction of my being. And it startles me that I cannot shed tears anymore.
But contrary to what I feel, I cannot untangle myself from that urge which unceasingly makes me want to know how you are or whether you’re well or not. I have always wanted to ask you that. However, as you get farther each day, I lose the courage to do so.
You might have caused me heartaches, but I will constantly look after you. I don’t detest you. What I detest is the affirmation that you chose to linger at the mount of euphoria and later on bailed out at the perils of desolation–instances where I’ve been present the entire time.
Please help me endure the reality that our story was a mere encounter and not a ground for expectations I should hold on to. That once I had become your what-if, but you will forever be my oh-well.
With all these said, after all, I still got to have you know that if you told me today everything would result in a heartbreak, I would still choose to be with you because truly living life is in the experiences, not outcomes. And if I were to come to the point where I no longer remember the pain, I’ll remember you. You will always be my constant.
janainaart
izzy806
pixelskylines
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
kaledo-art
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
