August 30, 2005

• We met at a moment that was so wrong, it seemed right. I wasn’t ready; you definitely weren’t ready; but together we thought we could accomplish the obstacles life threw at us. I honestly believed that the world was held in between your two hands and across your wide armspan. I never wanted to let go, and when the moment came that I had to, my heart broke. We stumbled over blocks, we jumped hurdles, we held on tight to each other at every step. In my mind, I was saying no. In my heart, I was saying yes. I forced my mind to win, while my heart should have. I let you go. I decided that it was for the best.

  
  

  We never were in love, and we never will be in the future. We both hold abusive tendencies that we never want to truly claim. I guess maybe it’s the little things I miss about the times we spent together – those long back massages and the kisses next to my eye and the warm embrace and the teasing, fighting, joking, laughing, crying, smiling. Don’t get me wrong – I cherished it at the time. But sometimes I think that maybe when I look back, it all becomes a little better. They say hindsight is 20/20.

  
  

  Nothing meant more to me than that one night after the fight I had with my best friend where we sat on the huge beige couch and I cried into my chest while you listened to me jumble and spit out my words into a huge, blubbery mess. I made so many realizations about myself that night. Things I hate, things I love, things I never wish I understood.

  
  

  I often wonder if this was how things were supposed to turn out. You getting exactly what I deserve, me sitting here hoping that one day I would get my turn at a chance that might change my life. I tuck my knees into my chest and rest my chin on them, letting tears stream down my face and puddling under my chin until I cannot cry anymore because it hurts my chest to do so.

  
  

  Reality was too kind in the past. It led me to believe that it was a sweet, caring creature – until it turned its back on me, slitting my throat partway in the process. Now, in the present, it is starting to catch up with me. It throws pain in my way so difficult, I never think I’ll get out of it.

  
  

  I have just written something that doesn’t exist anywhere in the real world in my life. It’s a collection of words that I want to feel, that I want to live, that I wish I had the chance to experience in some sick way. This is not me. This is not what is going on in my life. This doesn’t have to do with anyone in my life, or not in my life, in any way, shape, or form. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s not supposed to. I’m a writer. All I want to do is feel.

  
  

  Let me feel something. Give me something to feel.

  
  

  [I need prompts.]

  • 11:47 pm
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