Time not only mends, but also ends. Keep that in mind next time you place false hope is something so full, so powerful, so natural, and so much bigger than you are. Time does not mend what must come to an end.
Mend your own heart.
Sorry I bothered you with meaninglessness; I just felt I should ask. I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. I’ll stop pretending you are there like I want you to be. I’ll stop “begging” you to speak to me like I’m some criminal on my knees begging your forgiveness for a crime I didn’t do. I don’t appreciate being ignored, nor put on a pedestal like a nuisance. I am neither of these. I have been good to you…Always trying to create a close bond…sharing my thoughts, dreams, goals, sadness, weakness, happiness, and confusion; I won’t do it any longer. I’ll go on and find a new journey. I’ll place my passion into a new medium. I’ll pretend like this never happened. I’ll act like I’m better off without you, even though I will think, dream, scream, cry, and wonder about you for the rest of my life, through-and-through. I’m sorry for weighing you down with all my anger and all my never-ending problems and my never-ending tears. I’m sorry for wasting my time on this. I’m sorry for letting my heart get so attached to you and your life and your face and your voice and your soul. I’ll do my best to free myself of you. I’ll do my best to speak kindly of you. I’ll “pretend” I am fond of you. I’ll tell myself that I don’t “deserve” you. Yet, I think the honest truth is that you don’t deserve me. In my darkest hours, I won’t search for you. In my brightest sunshine, I won’t look to find you. I will remember the day, the hour, and the moment, whenever I noticed your faults, your freedoms, your selfishness, and your fakeness. I can see that I’m too much for you. My life and my heart and my head are “too messed up” for you. I’ll pretend like these chills are because it’s cold; it can’t be any kind of pain surfacing. No, no, it isn’t deep regret or sadness controlling the bumpy sensations on my arms, or the weakness in my voice to speak, or the pain in my fingers to type, or even the fighting back of tears trying to push themselves through the holes that pressure has broken through. I will not admit these things. I will not cherish the memories. I will not look back. I will look forward and will not see you standing there. I will not fabricate the future, nor will I give a second’s waste to any dreams of having you ‘til the end.
Because you won’t either.
I’m a gypsy. I’m a loner. I’m a wanderer with a nomadic heart and nomadic dreams and a nomadic soul with a nomadic face. I’ll pretend that apathy is my new best friend. I’ll make its bed and cuddle to the sweet breath.
I’m in too deep.
My pain no longer fits within the ventricles of my heart’s fire.
My stomach nauseates the cold, hard, _____ of the truth.
What a sad calamity.