There has been not much that I did the last year. I was floating on emotions I should’ve put more into other things. I dwelled, sulked, and celebrated much of the loneliness without really ever meaning to overcome it.
This year, I’ll be more active in some of the things I have neglected in the past. Although I’m drained out of the emotions, I’m much more aware of myself now than I ever did before. I have more time to explore more of the selfishness I deserve.
The best years of your life are the ones in which you decide your problems are your own. You do not blame them on anyone or anything. You realize that you control your own destiny.
We are powerful because we have survived.
No pity. No shame. No silence.
I was doing it again. That lying in bed in a fetal position. Trying to calm myself. Trying to fight off the tears. Trying to not think. All of which turned out to be futile attempts.
And I surrendered to what was inevitable anyway. Belonging to the darkness. Letting that anxiety control me. Cried. Burdened myself with thoughts. I was weak. Defenseless.
Yet, how ironic it is to find myself haggling with the loneliness to one mere touch from you. Even if it means accepting what hurts me most, letting go of you. And this is not the ending I wanted it to be.
It’s in the denial that defined what’s between us. Or what was us. I can no longer distinguish what was or what is.
And it’s frustrating. Because I am still hopeful for a fairy tale. Waiting for us. For you. Settling for an abstract ending. It’s in the uncertainty of having you that’s killing what little is left.
I can be strong. I know. It’s just. It’s not that time yet.
Eventhough you’ve given up.
Then I return to the cycle again. Fetal position. Lying in bed. Fighting off the tears. Unthinking.
All I want to do is be at the point in my life where I am secure enough (or maybe just brave enough) to openly travel. I’m not saying that i need to do it by myself but I just want to get up and go. Every weekend or every so often just get up and go. To have enough money to comfortably be able to, without worry, explore the world we live in.
I look at you. Everyday I see you again and I think that maybe you aren’t as great as I made you out to be. But then you speak or laugh or breathe and I realize that yes, you are.
If you read this, if you knew I wrote this about you you’d get scared. You wouldn’t be able to look at me straight. I know that. I know what it is like to be loved by someone you do not love.
I want you. I want some part of you. Any part. Every part. Those parts which you let everyone have, the parts which you share in conversation. I want those special parts, those parts you keep hidden from everyone.
I don’t care. Let’s run away to where the shooting stars fall and meet them when they land. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. I wanna burn with you like coal smoke sunsets over fields of eels. I’m just so tired of waking up all alone.
It’s you. When all my dreams come true, the one I want next to me. It’s you.