n. [Brit. wallesia] a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, which is your brain’s way of checking to see whether they’re still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.
R.
I’ve been stupid.
This has indeed been a waste of time and energy.
The post breakup days of self-pity, I mean. It’s been bitterness and obsession. I wouldn’t want to put someone I love through all this unpleasantness. I forgot that, somehow. I forgot I deserved better, and that despite all my faults I do love the person I am. I love myself and I’m going to treat myself better. I love you, but I have to live with myself for the rest of my life so I can’t hurt myself for you. You’re not really worth it.
So you know what?
I’m moving on. There’s no point waiting for trains that won’t ever come.
All my love, it’s been amazing knowing you. :)
S.
My dearest R.
Fuck you for moving on, for making me the excessive reagent, for all your walls, for always obsessing over the future and for not having the balls to take chances.
Fuck you for breaking my heart, for not reciprocating any more.
Fuck you for making me fall in love with you.
Fuck you for…ugh, the fact I love you.
I’m still in love with you. Even now. Despite everything. When I really shouldn’t. When it hurts so bad. Marvelous, isn’t it?
It hurts so fucking bad: Asking you to move on, to date Barbie when it’s fucking killing me inside just imagining you being with someone else.
But you’re so wonderfully nonchalant. I want to hate you. I want to delete you, every stupid memory of you but—but I can’t. Cos I’m not like you. I haven’t always been broken.
I don’t deserve this. But how do I stop…hoping. Having faith in the randomness of everything.
Doesn’t it make you wince even a little? Hurting me, I mean. Breaking me repeatedly…
I’m not in repair. I’m just…withering away.
S.
R.
I’ll be gone in about a month. We probably won’t meet, ever again. Man, that sounds so ridiculously dramatic. Anyway, that’s how things are. Our lives probably won’t ever intersect again.
Doesn’t that upset you?
Doesn’t friendship mean anything? How can you drop from everything to 0 so quickly? So, so darn easily?
Urgh. Anyway. I’m used to losing people. To moving. I’ll cope. Learn to cope, at least. Just wish I didn’t. Wish you could’be been a better person.
S.
R.,
You won’t come back now. You can’t. If you did, if you told me you loved me, I wouldn’t understand. Why you did what you did. I love you, but I’m scared of you. Scared of the power you have over me. You’ve ripped me to tiny shreds, pieces of a puzzle that doesn’t exist anymore: the pieces don’t fit. No, I haven’t lost any…they’ve just changed.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you back. It just means I’ve become somewhat realistic.
Ugly words.
Break my heart again,
S.