journal · prose


It hurts a little bit, every step I take towards change. Away from you. I remind myself that change is good. Change is healthy. Change is a part of life. That good things do not come to those who wait, but to those who try. And I am trying. Good things are happening. Good things come, and so does the elation that comes with those things, but also sadness, because I miss sharing them with someone. I miss you. Yet I keep it to myself. Lock it away, with all my other happy thoughts of you, deep within the darkest, dustiest corners of my mind, where I don’t have to look upon them and feel it. Replacing absence with anger. Reminding myself of all that was not good, all that could not and cannot be changed, all that happened which brought us to this present moment, where I propel myself toward success in an attempt to escape the devastation, while you drown the sorrow that you cannot understand with any substance you can get your hands on, throwing daggers at my back in an attempt to place blame. But there is no one to blame, nothing to give reason to that which has no reason or purpose in your life. The tiny wounds that you contrive inflict and deeply embed only scratch and sting, individually harmless. It is the gradual accumulation of these small traumas, forming together, that forge larger marks on my psyche and soul, which begin to slowly bleed me dry. So I remind myself that your claims are ludicrous, statements you knew that I would somehow hear, even with the lack of contact, and were designed to hurt me, to make me feel like I am somehow less than what I actually am. That I should not be hurt by them. But these reminders fall on deaf ears, because, ultimately, it is not the attacks themselves which cause the heartache, but the emotion behind them. I simply cannot comprehend how someone who claimed to love me, someone that I have laughed with, cried with, shared so much of myself and my life with, can be so venomous and spew so much poisonous hatred toward me, as if I had never spared them a kind word or gesture. When we both know that all I ever wanted and all I ever worked toward from the moment we met, was to help. To lend a listening ear, a willing hand, and a loving heart, in a truly genuine and honest attempt to make the best of both of our lives and seek out happiness and peace. I remind myself that I am my only concern now. And I must remind myself once more: good things do not come to those who wait, but to those who try. And you did not want to try. You may not even know how to. And you know of no other way to cope with the aftermath than this.

Reminders to keep me moving. Reminders to keep me trying. Reminders to keep me sane. Reminders… to keep myself from missing you. This is the vicious circle that my thoughts take each day, and I do not know how to escape them. There are no reminders to keep thoughts at bay. Only time. Taking its sweet, sweet time.


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