Of Love, And Longing.
1/1
The silence of the house is just another reminder as to how alone I really am. My heart rate increases and the previous hunger in my stomach has come to a halt, replaced with a tightness in my throat. These are all signs of an anxiety attack.
I will never like being around other people as much as I like being alone, but I will never like being alone as much I liked being alone with you.
I never thought it would be this hard to let go. I never did, I never expected this. I never expected my bed would become my best friend, my most trusted confidant. The overwhelming numbness, the building of blockades and barriers... I thought I was past all that.
But of all the things I "never thought", I never thought I would ever fall in love with you.
In order to pass the time, I turn the water to the kitchen sink on. The roar of the water flooding the metal sink full of food residue covered dishes drowns out the deafening silence, and I thank the gods for the mess before me. I laugh to myself over this; I never once thought I would be thanking anyone for any mess they left.
I need to move my hands; I need to do something to distract myself from this overwhelming loneliness. I squirt the blue dish soap at my disposal all over the dishes and pick up the purple, torn-up sponge. I begin to scrub away all of the grease and grime and hardened on food as the steam from the water rises in front of my face. My hands are soapy and my fingertips are shriveled up and before you know it, I'm all done. And I'm left with nothing but the silence again.
I'd put on music to make me feel slightly more at ease, but I can find a lyric in every song that reminds me of you. It's absolutely disgusting what love does to a person.
I remember countless nights driving around the city, feeling like we had some sort of secret. We were two people with common interests that were out together at ungodly hours doing most likely ungodly things and no one knew. It made me feel like we shared some sort of sick bond but I enjoyed it. It had been so long since I had felt anything towards anyone and you brought out things in me that I believed to be long dead.
Before you knew it, I was completely and totally controlled by you.
I try not to think about that now, though. I try to focus on things that don't have to do with emotions, like my future career and education. I don't really talk to too many people; somehow, the subject always gets switched to you and me and how we're doing, the topic of "us" or the lack thereof. Frankly, I just get tired of hearing the same things.
"Why did you think you were different?"
"He's just a player."
"You're stupid for not being able to see through him."
"You were just another notch."
Granted, you have a reputation. Granted, you're knowing for being a bit of a player and a bit of a liar and a bit of an asshole, for lack of a better or more suitable term. And granted, it's not like I haven't already thought this and don't already believe it. However, after hearing, day in and day out, about how idiotic it was to fall for you and how I should just get over you (this being said to me by all the people in my life with significant others who truly love them and who are actually happy with their position in life), it gets old and I get fed up and then I partake in a little something called "voluntary isolation".
I mean, don't get me wrong. I read a lot. I play instruments and research chaos theory and watch independent movies on the Sundance Channel. I keep as busy as I possibly can, as numb as I possibly can, but sometimes, I spend time just lying awake, eyes fixated on the ceiling, thinking.
Sometimes I like to pretend you're next to me, or beside me in the hallway, or sitting on the couch, waiting to enjoy a large pizza between us. Sometimes I get all dressed up in hope that I'll see you at Taco Bell or the supermarket or out and about, living your life, and we'll strike up a conversation. I have delusions of grandeur about you texting me and asking me how things are, and having a long, normal conversation with the guy I fell in love with, not some person who treats me as if I was an obligation (but at the same time, I'll admit, I'd rather you talk to me for any reason, regardless of whether you feel obligated to or not). You're in my dreams every night, and I'd like to believe that bullshit psychological "fact" that states that if someone is dreaming about you, they miss you. And I spend a lot of time wishing and wanting and feeling pathetic, because I can't seem to rid myself of these thoughts about you and the feelings that come with them. Sometimes I wish you were dead, if I'm feeling particularly bitter. Sometimes I wish you didn't exist, or that we never met; it would have made life much easier for the both of us, and I would no longer be a burden to you. Sometimes I talk about you and how much I hate you for everything that happen and everything that also allegedly happened after you were through with the "boyfriend charade", as you so kindly put it.
But most of the time, honestly, I just spend missing you.
I will never like being around other people as much as I like being alone, but I will never like being alone as much I liked being alone with you.
I never thought it would be this hard to let go. I never did, I never expected this. I never expected my bed would become my best friend, my most trusted confidant. The overwhelming numbness, the building of blockades and barriers... I thought I was past all that.
But of all the things I "never thought", I never thought I would ever fall in love with you.
In order to pass the time, I turn the water to the kitchen sink on. The roar of the water flooding the metal sink full of food residue covered dishes drowns out the deafening silence, and I thank the gods for the mess before me. I laugh to myself over this; I never once thought I would be thanking anyone for any mess they left.
I need to move my hands; I need to do something to distract myself from this overwhelming loneliness. I squirt the blue dish soap at my disposal all over the dishes and pick up the purple, torn-up sponge. I begin to scrub away all of the grease and grime and hardened on food as the steam from the water rises in front of my face. My hands are soapy and my fingertips are shriveled up and before you know it, I'm all done. And I'm left with nothing but the silence again.
I'd put on music to make me feel slightly more at ease, but I can find a lyric in every song that reminds me of you. It's absolutely disgusting what love does to a person.
I remember countless nights driving around the city, feeling like we had some sort of secret. We were two people with common interests that were out together at ungodly hours doing most likely ungodly things and no one knew. It made me feel like we shared some sort of sick bond but I enjoyed it. It had been so long since I had felt anything towards anyone and you brought out things in me that I believed to be long dead.
Before you knew it, I was completely and totally controlled by you.
I try not to think about that now, though. I try to focus on things that don't have to do with emotions, like my future career and education. I don't really talk to too many people; somehow, the subject always gets switched to you and me and how we're doing, the topic of "us" or the lack thereof. Frankly, I just get tired of hearing the same things.
"Why did you think you were different?"
"He's just a player."
"You're stupid for not being able to see through him."
"You were just another notch."
Granted, you have a reputation. Granted, you're knowing for being a bit of a player and a bit of a liar and a bit of an asshole, for lack of a better or more suitable term. And granted, it's not like I haven't already thought this and don't already believe it. However, after hearing, day in and day out, about how idiotic it was to fall for you and how I should just get over you (this being said to me by all the people in my life with significant others who truly love them and who are actually happy with their position in life), it gets old and I get fed up and then I partake in a little something called "voluntary isolation".
I mean, don't get me wrong. I read a lot. I play instruments and research chaos theory and watch independent movies on the Sundance Channel. I keep as busy as I possibly can, as numb as I possibly can, but sometimes, I spend time just lying awake, eyes fixated on the ceiling, thinking.
Sometimes I like to pretend you're next to me, or beside me in the hallway, or sitting on the couch, waiting to enjoy a large pizza between us. Sometimes I get all dressed up in hope that I'll see you at Taco Bell or the supermarket or out and about, living your life, and we'll strike up a conversation. I have delusions of grandeur about you texting me and asking me how things are, and having a long, normal conversation with the guy I fell in love with, not some person who treats me as if I was an obligation (but at the same time, I'll admit, I'd rather you talk to me for any reason, regardless of whether you feel obligated to or not). You're in my dreams every night, and I'd like to believe that bullshit psychological "fact" that states that if someone is dreaming about you, they miss you. And I spend a lot of time wishing and wanting and feeling pathetic, because I can't seem to rid myself of these thoughts about you and the feelings that come with them. Sometimes I wish you were dead, if I'm feeling particularly bitter. Sometimes I wish you didn't exist, or that we never met; it would have made life much easier for the both of us, and I would no longer be a burden to you. Sometimes I talk about you and how much I hate you for everything that happen and everything that also allegedly happened after you were through with the "boyfriend charade", as you so kindly put it.
But most of the time, honestly, I just spend missing you.