How hard can it be? I mean, you let go first, then move on. That’s it right? You erase the name that stayed on your whole being like a tattoo … but with a scraper. Oh, what a load of crap isn’t it? Moving on means hurting yourself on the way. You see him smiling, but he doesn’t see you making your way into your own personal hell. You see him happy with someone else, but he doesn’t see you ripping to shreds. Love doesn’t make you strong everytime. Sometimes, actually, it takes the strength out of you and place it with dread. Or much worse, despair.
After all this time, I’ve been in a desert looking for an oasis. I’ve been in this hopeless, shattered illusion that someone might be also looking for one; someone who might be also moving on – in the midst of a storm, waiting for the sun to rise again; someone like me. But then, loving also means facing the dusk, knowing there’s the dawn coming up. Love means waiting – for the right one at the right time for the right reason. I’m not saying I want that kind of love right now – the kind that is honest and patient and real. I just want to feel something I know that’s ours, not just shared emotions with everybody. Because love makes you unselfish. There’s no you or me. Only we. Only us.
It’s been a long time and I can still remember it – vivid and strong and unpretentious lovely, lovely memories. It’s nipping at my bones and digging into my soul. I try to reject it, deny or forget it. But I. Just. Can’t. Fucking. Do. It. Why is it that the easiest thing I did [falling in love with him] is also the hardest thing to undo? How do I un-love you, my love? Tell me.
There is a variety of pain: pain when you lose your purse, pain when you lose your pet, pain when you lose your ticket to your favorite band’s concert. But the pain of losing yourself over loving someone? Now that is the Pain with the capital P, A, I, and N. It is always connected to losing something. Just like life, love’s a bitch I know.
I just want to forget you know? Forget that I lost the only love I want to keep for the rest of my years. God knows I tried – that I always try. But there are wounds that can’t be healed in an instant. And I got mine Band-Aided for a long time now. I still bleed. I still yearn. I still long. And I still love.
Someday, reading this full-of-utter-horseshit thing scribbled in a paper with a purple-inked pen, will not put a tear in my eyes, but a smile in my face. Looking back to all those, I know I’ll reminisce like I do now. And someday, I know I won’t even care even if I don’t know what’s been real or not between us; what’s the truth and what are the lies. Because, I know what I felt. Because someday, I know I won’t care. It won’t matter. Someday.
Someday … I’ll be better.
And someday, I’ll move on.
