• wisteria_ 20w

    It's too soon to write about a hurt that hasn't yet fallen off the tree. It's too early to have insights when your brain is juggling the possibility of it all turning out to be unreal. Afterall, illusions are the most comfy places to build homes in.

    There's quite not a reason to ask for, when someone decides to leave you. What are you even gonna ask? Is there any possible answer that hurts a little less? The time, the situation, the phases.

    There's a metaphor I'm scared of, with the whole life in me. The buds of excitement piling bright on grass, with prancing steps, a great day! The heart brimming with someone's presence, and suddenly, or gradually it's time for the sun to set. The picnic's over. Being the last one to pack the bags, when everyone has already left. Oh that heart ripping feeling.

    It's a good idea to collect the memories and paste a smile on your face. But every moment that your instincts yearn to hear a word from them, how many memories do you gobble up? And it was never wrong to part, it was just surreal. A dream's ending, a convinced romance juts out of the cocoon and soars, unreachably.

    I'm not writing with tears, so does this count as a sober story? My eyes have dried of pain.

    A few days ago, I wrote this for him, "I don't carry you in each step of my scary journey. I don't carry you in every tear or smile. But as I dance my inadequate way, through this shaky road of mine, it's easy to find you every time I look back. It's easy to feel you with me. Maybe we can walk two different roads in togetherness. Just maybe."

    And maybe it was easier to give up. A friend told me, the ideal amount of break downs in a relationship should be zero. And I was already way past that limit. But I still had it in me. Maybe it isn't such a good idea to drain out every ounce of resilience you hold. Maybe, when it requires too many efforts, it's not worth them. Maybe. The pain lies in maybe.

    I think about missing people. The people I already missed, and crawled to a limit where I don't miss them anymore. It will be the same for this person, for every person. Missing people is funny when you know the person you miss exists in no reality.

    It's interesting, how a bond ends. Once the conclusion is pulled out of the bag, nothing remains the same. The love language developed over a period is rendered useless, only pricking in memories. And the way you looked at the same person, is coloured in so many insecurities. Never again will two people sit together and feel the same. Once broken, it's never mended the same. Sometimes, it's never even mended.

    The last of the tears are always played, with failing memory of a premature dream's death. There's song and sunset. And a hope that nights, and early dawns are lesser grey.

    I loved as much as I could, and I believe he did too. We loved in our own ways, we'll part in our own ways too. I will learn to sleep with how there's no why to ask for things in life.