Recovery.

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I realize that the love I deserve is much larger than the love you reluctantly hand out. And I’m tired of compromising, I’m tired of telling myself that it’ll get better, because I know that it won’t. I have searched for the answer in myself, and I know it.

I should’ve known the moment I saw the way you look at her.

She won’t pick up your pieces. She can’t fix you, you are broken beyond repair and you look for surrogates to hold your pain but you will never understand how it feels to conquer the sinking of your heart. She can’t help you, because she won’t. She doesn’t care. She never will.

I refuse to sit by and watch you allow yourself to be captivated by a lost cause because she is. And you are.

I am in awe at your ability to break those who have faith in you. Those who would go to the end of the world to save you. Those that would never doubt you. I am in awe at your ability to spite them.

You refuse to think of consequences, life is just a game, and you don’t know what to do or what to say. I’m not the only one that’s tired of your need to break those who would sacrifice for you. I am stranded with the ache of your confusion, and I know that my heart cannot contain your restlessness.

However, I’m shocked at my ability to feel the need to rescue you. Forget rescue you, rescue myself. Being around you was enough to make me let my guard down, to give up all thoughts of sense, to give up every emotion I had worked so hard to compress.

Why am I not capable of understanding that you can’t fix me? It’s not just you. No one can fix me. I cannot allow you to be a stepping stone to the goal of my survival. I am not a half that needs to become whole. I am already complete.

Everyone I’ve ever loved has been a way for me to fix myself. I have seen my pain as a beautiful tragedy, and love as my bitter remedy. I’ve realized now that if I keep my heart open, the price I’ll have to pay will consume me. Even the broken pieces of my mind and soul will turn to dust eventually. And after years of searching for the answer to my emptiness, I know it now.

You cannot be wrapped in a whirlwind of intense amour if you aren’t besotted with the complete being that you are.

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Fallacy.

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I’ve been wondering how you have the ability to recklessly judge my character,

When you know my world revolves around your opinion,

When I’m ready to beg at your feet;

You tell your friends that you don’t want to be with that type of girl,

And I was confused because I didn’t think I was anyone but myself,

That I was some sort of reckless fallacy,

But you did.

All you could tell me,

All you could say was that my actions were a bullet in your heart,

Yet you knew it was you who shattered my soul,

And I believe that you would take me back if I stopped giving my body away,

But you never did.

 

And the irony was that the same boy who would beg for my body,

Would hate me if another did,

And that somehow I was at fault for being promiscuous,

That what I did with my body was for society to determine,

But it’s not.

 

And so now that you can’t look me in the eyes,

Know that my body was never yours,

And it never will be;

Because I’d rather be a fallacy than deal with your never-ending tragedy,

And even though I loved you,

I think I know better now.

You.

I’m tired of not knowing what we are. I sit here and contemplate whether you even want me, failing to realize  that want and need are two different things.

See, the difference is – I have grown to need you. I have grown to need your presence in my unruly life, grown to need everything that you give me, the happy and the sad. I don’t think you need me. I don’t think you want to need me.

It’s different with you. I’ve become hopelessly infatuated with a boy that could care less, and I keep letting myself fall for your reckless reassurances because I don’t know how else to feel. You can’t give me what I want, but do I even know what I want?

That’s the saddest part. I don’t know what I want from you, but all I know is that I want you. I love you. It hurts to say it, as though saying it can mean finally accepting it and maybe if I say your name enough times it’ll feel like honey instead of razor blades.

I’m sick of it. I can’t handle loving you anymore than I can handle hating you, and I’m tired of constantly dreaming about your hands around my waist. I’m angry at myself for staying up till 6 am, with your face plaguing my thoughts. I’ve forgotten what a good night’s sleep even feels like.

You don’t even realise it, but you are what has always made me happy. For the past year, I have thought of you and only you. Unfortunately, it’s not been the same for you, and it breaks me to this day.

You broke me, and you didn’t flinch. You were okay with losing someone who loved you, even when she had come back to you numerous times. Even when she would take a blade to her heart for you. Even when she loved you more than she loved herself.

As I write this today, I have reached the point where I am ready to say goodbye to you. You have brought me a different kind of heartbreak, one that I may never recover from. One that’ll haunt me for years to come.

You see, you left my heart stranded. I can’t blame you for leaving me. I would’ve hated you if you stayed. I hate you now, for giving me hope that there is good in you, hope that you care about me, hope that you would someday come back to me.

I’ve been living on a lie for months now. You see, I don’t think you ever loved me. I don’t think you know what love really is. I would sacrifice myself to the Gods themselves, just to see you happy. My death would leave you a happier man, I’m aware. And that is why loving you is breaking me, and today, I need to say goodbye. I need to stop loving you. I need to.

I thought you were “The One”. A romantic idea that has now become dead to me. The idea of love has become dead to me. Lately I’ve realised that I’m never going to find the type of love that you can move mountains for. I’ll keep chasing after should have beens and the ones that got away, forgetting that they’d never even shift a chair for me but I’d break myself for them.

The truth is, I’m undatable. An enigma of uncertainty, of toxicity, of self-loathing and neediness. I needed you, and in doing so, suffocated every ounce of happiness you have ever had. That’s why I look for the opposite of myself in boys that wouldn’t care even if I asked them to. I looked for happiness in you knowing you already have it, forgetting that you can’t love me unless I learn to love myself.

You don’t want to love me anyways.

A Letter To The Boy I Love.

 
 
The world is an empty place, left to be lit by people that make you smile with each encounter, that drive you to the brink of insanity with each word, but leave you loving them more than anyone else, each and every time. 

You’ve done that to me.

You’ve taken me for a ride I’ll never recover from. I’ve travelled through a symphony of euphoria, and a cacophony of anguish, only to be left wondering what more to expect.

You’ve transformed me, and left me to myself. You’ve broken me, and never looked back. I blame myself for allowing you to infiltrate the walls that protect my heart, yet I blame you for capturing my soul and refusing to return it.

I’m road-rage, a manic disorder of epic proportions, and you accepted it. You saw the wonder in me, the beauty in the panic and the strength in my cries.

But I’ve changed since the day I met you. 

You have too, a mesmerising yet heartbreaking realisation that I wake up with everyday. I tell myself that you aren’t any different, but I know that you’ll never be the person you were before me.

And I’ll never be the same again. 

I know it’s not much.

But I’ll always love you.