I’ve been waiting for weeks to hear something, missing the chances I got to sort things out. Not getting through whenever I took the initiative. I spoke for long hours with sweet S <3
So I sat down and wrote a long, long letter.
I thought to myself; I will drown myself spending every day wondering, thinking, imagining – until I don’t know what’s real and what is anymore. Thinking I must have been crazy, lost my mind for a second, as my future all of a sudden seemed so clear I almost believed it existed.
I promised myself I would write down my feelings; but when push comes to shove I don’t know exactly what I do feel. I fell in love with someone, who seem so distant now. I mourn her like she was dead.
Writing that letter was without a doubt the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I say this in hope that whoever reads this will see it in contrast; I’m not like you. I felt my fingers collapse over the letters, literally. I couldn’t bring myself to write the simple line I wanted to. I write, and I do it good. And I poured my heart and soul out. I wrote of my fear, my confucious, my offense, my life, my past. And a wished her the best of birthdays.
I asked whether or not we would ever meet, and I was so sure we one day would, it never even struck me that I would never get a reply. I was so sure, that if one put their entire being into something for one person only, did what they had never been able to do before and cried tear after tear, there would at least be that. I would either get e beginning, or an end. I thought this was the only option in the book. I never thought I would be ignored, I didn’t think it was something you could ignore.
I think of such clichés on tv, like when there is someone dying and the ones who are left behind can’t understand how the world can still go on. I feel so dramatic and keep silent, but secretly I watch people, laughing, going to parties, sharing secrets, being with their loved one, studying, and I can’t understand how they can not feel what do feel. See that I’m constantly crying, thinking of those words I tore out. Seeing her do the same as them. As if nothing ever happened. That it happened again. And that I – without being the slightest over-dramatic – can’t find a way out.
I am the stillest of creatures, I have nothing to do. So as I was browsing the Internet, looking for things to inspire me, I decided to start a rotation. Hello, anyone out there? I bought this book today. It’s black, like I promised (or did I not?). I will ship it away and hopefully it will come back to me, eventually.
