Ripped from the Pages of My Journal

These past few days I’ve been doing my best to keep myself busy in attempts to ignore this ever-growing knot in the pit of my stomach. I’ve silenced myself from the world — nothing personal to anyone but I just needed the time and space to collect my thoughts. Sometimes I really hate just how deeply and impassioned I can be. Sometimes, I’m jealous of how others have this ‘savage’-like ability to just let shit go and not think TWICE about it. By the way I’ve been ‘handling’ this, you’d  think someone had just died. And in a way, I guess you could say that. I really should be accustomed to people leaving. I should be accustomed to the ever irrevocable narrative of me featuring unrequited love. I’d have thought that by now I’d be an expert on dealing with a broken-heart and that it would be easier for me…well, it’s not. It seems like it only grows more increasingly difficult.

Yesterday, I tried to write a letter to you. The first time the letter seemed too vague; the second one seemed too mushy; the third too lengthy. By the time I had sat down to write  this stupid letter again, the only thing I could come up with was this: ‘I think I love you.’

Crazy? Right? I mean how is that even POSSIBLE??? Totally impossible, right? You’re probably wondering, ‘how’, or maybe you just don’t care but…it’s true. Loving you has less to do with what you’ve done with or for me. I love you for everything you ARE. You…impacted me in some ways you’ll most likely never understand. And that’s OK.

I’m still undecided if I’ll even send you that stupid letter. I don’t expect anything in that letter to change your mind or even feel how I feel. Like I said, I am used to this. Make no mistake, it still hurts like hell. But, I am no stranger to short-lived forevers.


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