When I stop, when the silence fills in the empty spaces and there is no one left to listen to, when I am alone and simply breathing, it hurts. The pain that I dull with distractions and people I don’t really care for ignites like a fire within me, full force, and I burn alive. How do I exist? I wonder. How does this not kill me? I may speak in prose or supposed exaggerations, but that is really how it feels. As though it would be better to be dead. Because, if my world is dust and I am all that is left amongst the ruins, why can I not just float away with the specks? These are not pleas for sympathy or attention, they simply are – statements, observations. Like how I miss you. How I see you there everyday, but we are like complete strangers or estranged acquaintances, speaking rarely and briefly about only the most trivial of things. Certainly nowhere near friends. But I pathetically take what I can get, these crumbs, this nothing, your distant presence. Yes, I realize you don’t love me and you might never have done so, but it doesn’t stop me from loving you – until I bleed and burst and become a hole instead of whole. Missing you until I sigh, or cry, or die, and wishing I was kissing you, and knowing I never will. I’ll never have any of it again, never be so close or so real or so… something. Content? I miss you, I miss you, I miss you… I chant it like a mantra and I hope it reaches you, but I know it won’t. It can’t. Even if I could caress your face as I said it. Because the doors are closed and locked; I’d be speaking to walls or wishing on stars forgotten. And everyday, it kills me a little bit more to love you, but everyday I love you a little bit more. I can’t stop. Honestly, I try. I’ve tried. It shames me to say so, but to at least mold it into sisterhood or friendship would have been more productive. I just can’t. Every piece of me loves every piece of you, and all the distance and trying in the world doesn’t stop it. In my weakest moments, where it feels as though life will take me alive, I’ve wished all sorts of things I never purposefully wanted to think. Like it would be nice to have your memory, so all this would be nothing more than a passing dream.
I still miss you. I still think of you. The turmoil in my heart heart has settled and the ache is fading away. But it only takes a thought. A reminder of a happy moment shared with you. Crossing my mind at random as I go about my day. Feel a pang for what is lost, gone. A hole in the shape of where your love used to dwell. I don’t try to forget you. No longer bother with attempts to extract you from my soul. It would be fruitless. With time, the memories will fade. But you will remain. Will always be a part of me. I can now compartmentalize. Hide you away in the quietest and most remote of corners within me. Retrieve your shadow on some rainy, windy day, in my lonely future, when the past is all I have to gaze upon. The weight of my love for you has finally been made bearable, yes. I have even succeeded in convincing those around me, who thought it folly to care for you, that it was nothing more than a momentary lapse of judgment. But do not think for a moment that you will ever be gone from my heart. There is always a place for you here, a space with you in it. It’s not only that I made a promise. It’s what love is, to me. I still and will always miss you. I just wanted to say I’m finally okay with that. And please forgive me for moving on. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. Merely that there is room in my heart for more.