July 20, 2005

• Like I said, if you do not like what I write, do not read it. Xanga is full of other authors whose sites you might like better. What I write often does not even reflect my feelings or what I am going through; I often just write to purely write. I can capture any feeling I want, I just choose the same ones because, often, they are the ones I know the best. There is this thing called Creative Writing, which I sometimes write in first person as if it is me experiencing it.

  
  

  I search my memory for a slight remembrance of you, but I cannot seem to find it. Maybe you never existed; maybe I chose to forget you; maybe I have moved on to someone or something better for me. I do remember the feelings you helped exude from me. Small moments of time frozen for our enjoyment, we felt what we thought no one else had felt before.

  
  

  Through all the pain and tears, you stood by me. Slowly, your face comes back into focus in my mind’s eye. I can remember almost all we did – all we said – all of the future we discussed. But the day you walked away from me, my whole world collapsed right in front of me. The agony, the pure hurt, everything the opposite of what I had felt for so long hit me hard.

  
  

  Everyone said we would never make it. I defended you, I defended us. I was out to prove them wrong; I was set on loving you as much as my heart would let me and more. I was ready to embrace you and your feelings, without pressure or force. The happy days were more often than the sad ones, but when the sad ones came along … they felt never-ending.

  
  

  I would give anything to have you back, to change the past and what you did to me. I know I was not the best for you either, but I thought we would be able to work past all our differences. But they were all right; we did not make it.

  
  

  In my mind there are only two parts of our relationship: the lust, and the downfall. It was so exciting, so new, so euphoric. But then it was all fights and arguments and we just went down from there. Falling faster and faster until we almost hit the cement at the bottom, almost splitting open both of our heads. We almost killed each other.

  
  

  I wish for that lust sometimes, but I am glad I do not have it – merely out of fear for the close call of suicide. It was a romance so badly struck by Cupid that it could only end in such a hurtful way. We ran too fast, we jumped too far, we risked too much. I fell, you fell, we both fell together holding each other tightly as the fall took our breaths away.

  
  

  I just wanted to say that I hope you are okay. But I hope that, in time, we find our faults and hold them in a light so that all we meet can see them, either to accept them or not. Good thing that I had you at one time. Otherwise, where would I be now?

  
  

  [Note: Not based on reality.]

  
  

  
  

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  My inspiration is getting low. I need some new ideas. Help, please?

  • 6:53 pm
  • 6 Comments