The sound of my name in your mouth. Your sigh. Your moan. The caress of sweet nothings in my ear that made my heart burn, body burn, soul burn. I miss you.
Of sunlight and sweat and something sweet. My pillows have forgotten how to replicate it. The bed feels lifeless without it. I miss you.
Your hand on my waist, your mouth on my neck, hips pressed together. I crave it all. Fading memories do not serve justice to the happiness that would bubble through my body at the touch of skin on skin. I miss you.
Come back to me.
It’s amazing to think that I’ve finally reached the point where I can look back at everything we’ve been through; from the times when we would lie and fight and punch and scream, to the times when you would stare into my eyes and promise me the world. I can see your hurtful words burning in the air in front of me, just as I can recall the comfort of your arms draped around me as I slept.
But what’s truly remarkable, is that I’ve finally reached the point where none of these memories ignite any emotion inside of me. They’re just old memories.
I guess in the evenings I get this little weak moment, and for a second I’ll allow myself to imagine being in your arms again. And it feels like home. I’ve got your touch memorised to the point where I can close my eyes and you’re magically beside me again. It’s like some form of masochistic pleasure.
And then I’ll rip myself out of my fantasy. Back to reality. Shut the door. Forget the memories. “Move on,” they all say. And I will. I should. You’re not here now. And you never will be.
Perhaps we’re inevitable. Every time I manage to force my memories of you to the back of my mind, you reappear in my reality to steal the show. You don’t really want me, it seems, but you don’t want me to forget you either. And try as I might, I can’t forget; and couldn’t, even if I wanted to I suppose. So we continue to play this tired old game, where we love, fight, hate, repeat. But it’s getting old, can’t you see?
I thought I loved you, but I realise now that probably I was wrong. You don’t know a thing about me, nor I you. I don’t think either of us cared. We were just two bruised souls, who enjoyed the fleeting company of another bruised soul to make us each feel a little less alone, less pathetic. So we didn’t stop to ask questions, or exchange pleasantries, we couldn’t have cared less.
Except, I guess that one day you did care less. And then it was all over .. isn’t that how it went?
I know you’re going through a lot right now. And I care. I care so much that it feels like my heart is twisting, my soul is being wrung out. It literally hurts me to see you hurting.
But it hurts just as much to know that against my own will, every aspect of me; my body, my heart, my soul, my mind; cares for your wellbeing, while not a single damn square inch of yours cares for mine.
You’re in love with the game, the chase, whatever you want to call it. And I’ve had enough of being picked up and dropped again at a moments notice. You’ve played with my emotions for too long, and I’ve been so in love that I’ve let you play with them for too long.
But not now, if you wan’t to play “wanting what you can’t have,” then go ahead and play it. But play it on your own, because I’m fucking done.
I’m not saying I don’t have very, very real feelings for you. But I guess that over time the bad shit stacks up and maybe it’s gotten to a point that the pile is so high that I finally cannot overlook it. I’m not saying I’m not in love. I’m just saying that my emotions for you are a seperate entity. They are not an infinite part of me. You are not an infinite part of me. And I can exist perfectly well without you, and someday soon I’m going to start doing, just you wait and see.
I’m just happy to be young, naive and love-struck again. To have escaped the painful clutches of unrequited love and finally hold an innocent outlook on life, and on love. To be curiously hopeful about what the future might hold.
This is freedom.
You’ve decided that you’d rather give up. You say you’ll always love me, but we both know this isn’t working. You say we’ve complicated everything, ruined everything. You say you don’t want to hurt me anymore, but you know it’s inevitable. You say, look at us, we’ll never work this out.
But why is it always what you say? What about what I say? I say you need to man the fuck up and stop running away from all of your problems. I say you should start being a decent human being instead of acting like you’re incapable of reason or intelligence or responsibility or love. I say yes we’ve ruined everything but I say that DOESN’T mean we leave it in pieces on the floor, we pick our shit up and move forwards.
I say, what happened to the days when our faces glowed in each others reflections? Now we both just look away.
(because I’m friends with him at soccer, and for some reason I tell him all of my deepest darkest secrets and he offers the best advice imaginable haha, like literally I wish I could get him to make a blog and just help people.)
Anyway, Rocked up at my guys house and told him point blank that he needed to decide how he felt about me, and then commit to feeling that way -not be sweet to me and then act like I don’t mean shit in front of his friends. And then I walked away. It felt so empowering!
AND THEN he messaged me like 10 minutes later, apologised, said that our whole meeting hadnt gone like he would like it to, and said we should sort this out.
LITERALLY OMG WHAT?
You’ve taken the cowards way out. You think that I don’t recognise it? You think I’ve never been there before? You fall, time and time again, for all of the people you will never be with, could never be with for one reason or another. And when your heart starts to thaw, and you find yourself falling for somebody with whom you hold a remote possibility of a future with, you get terrified, make an excuse, throw a vague line, or a cutting remark, and run the other direction.
You can go on chasing countless people you will never be with. Have fun my dear. Oh!- while you’re at it, add me to that list.
I’ve deprived myself of everything. Emotion, food, love, friendship. And allowed myself to be filled, instead, with you. Thoughts of you on my mind all day, they feed me, they comfort me, they keep my company.
What would I even be without you?
A whole lot more, I imagine.
I want to ask how you’re doing. Are you okay? Are you dealing with the things life’s been throwing at you? Are you happy? But I don’t think that I have the right to ask any of those things anymore.
When all is said and done, the only thing I have the right to do is hate you, and somehow I can’t manage to do it.
I want to touch you. I want to hold your hand and press our lips together. I want to reignite one million memories. I want to tell you things will be okay. I want to apologise for the fact that they haven’t been okay. I want to be the one to make them okay.