journal · letter

This Day

My Dear,

New place. Now all I need to do is erase my name and forget my face, right? It was one of those days. Where the weight of my love for you hung so heavily on my heart that it dampened any momentary contentedness I might have experienced. I was feeling more at peace with moving forward prior to this, but this day… it brought the full, aching, tidal force of my love for you crashing back into my soul. This was something I wanted to share with you. This day. It was supposed to be so good. One step closer to spending a life with you, a step toward what was supposed to be our future, become a step toward isolation. Two steps backward to alone, to becoming so lost inside my head that I may never find my way out again. And exactly how much do I have to miss you before the feeling grows tired? Because, I tell you, I am sick to death of it, but it simply will not cease. Growing more powerful and violent by the minute. Perhaps if I said it aloud, wrote it, I might find a moment of release from it. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so fucking much even though you are often near but because we no longer share a connection and you practically think I’m satanic, some overlord conspirator, and I don’t even fucking know why for, all I can do is miss miss miss miss miss miss miss you until I’m falling apart and periods lose their usefulness because it’s just. too. much. fucking. effort to be missing you, so why can’t I stop? I would beg and plead to any god that might possibly exist for this to cease! I have not used an exclamation point in a very long time, but it is no use, no use at all. I miss you still and it continues to slowly consume me. Ugh, this day. At least it has an ending, if nothing else.



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