I wish I knew what I did wrong. Is that a lot to ask for, closure? Or did you decide that I do not deserve to know, that I deserve to suffer?
It’s ironic because I have a degree in communication studies, and communicating is what I spectacularly failed at. I guess I never let you know how much you meant to me. Sometimes I live too much inside my head.
I don’t let a lot of people in. But you made it. You made it through the awkward hellos, the uncomfortable silences, the mask of being too cool to care. You paved your way through some walls, only to find some more, and you tore them down too. You found the key. And just when I was enjoying the breath of fresh air you brought in, you turned back and walked right out. You didn’t even look back once.
I will apologize. Call it therapy, call it self-care. I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. I’m sorry I disappointed you. I’m sorry I made life choices that you didn’t like. I’m sorry I wasn’t more expressive. I’m sorry if you feel like I looked past you. I didn’t. I noticed every single time you didn’t look me straight in the eye. I noticed when you spoke to everyone in the room but me. I noticed how you went from dislike to resentment to hate to absolute indifference. And that’s what hurts the most. The part where it feels like we never shared something special, ever. Like the present has wiped out the past.
I wish I could go back in time and see the exact moment where you decided that you didn’t want to be a part of my life. Laughter became awkward smiles, phone calls turned to short texts, and then radio silence. Our lives no longer intersected. You became somebody that I used to know. When I needed a friend, you weren’t there. And maybe you have the same complaints. Maybe all we had to do was say something. I tried. I swear I did. And then my heart got tired of being broken. It sought shelter under my ego. Under the same mask of being too cool to care that you once saw through.
I still wish you all the happiness in the world. I try my best to remember only the good parts. I tell myself some people aren’t meant to stay. But some day our lives might intersect again and maybe, just maybe, this time you’ll decide to stay.
Here’s a little something before the pointless, mawkish Valentine’s Day fanfare makes me hate the idea of love.
I want silence,
the kind where we sit
under the stars and say nothing
to each other.
I want trust,
the kind where I close my eyes
and let myself go
knowing that you’ll catch me.
I want laughter,
the kind where we can’t stop
until our stomachs hurt and we
don’t remember the joke anymore.
I want intimacy,
the kind where my entire existence
converges on that one point
where you hands are on me.
I want conversation,
the kind where we talk about
life and death and love
and everything in between.
I want peace,
the kind where nothing else matters
except the steady rhythm
of your heartbeat.
I want you,
the kind where you’re mine
and we give each other
everything we want.
This time she didn’t wish for a happy ending for she stopped believing in one. She stopped hoping for a miracle. She was tired. Exhausted. And above all, defeated. The light that filtered through her broken being passed right through; sucked into the black hole she had created for herself. Not only did the solitude comfort her, she craved it. Her eyes didn’t betray the heaviness of her soul. She lied well. No one cared to look under her cloak of indifference. She wore an armor over her heart and reveled in its solidity. She saw nightmares and wrote about dreams. Dreams that she knew would never come true. She had long lost the battle with destiny. She wasn’t fighting anymore. Just struggling. Struggling with identity. Struggling with existence. Hope was a word she had long forgotten the meaning of. The sun burned her, the moon taunted her and the birds spoke of freedom of which she knew not. She was friends with the sea though, for its endless grey matched hers. She was living a harsh reality, and this time she didn’t wish for a happy ending. She just wished for an end.
This post is about people who let you down. People who don’t mean what they say, people who don’t take responsibility for their actions. People who are not brave enough to follow through, people who make empty promises. People who betray your trust, who break your heart.
And each time it happens, you question your judgement. The cynic in you rises strong. Why should I hope? Why should I expect better, expect anything at all? Why should I care?
This post is a gentle reminder to not do that. Because for every 10/100/1000 people who disappoint you, there’ll be one who doesn’t. One person who’s always there. Who keeps all the promises. Who comes through every single time. Who cares. And believe you me, that one person makes it worth all the others.
I’m very lucky to have several such people in my life. Some I’ve known for a long time now, some I’ve met recently. But their innate goodness continues to astound me. This post is a silent message of gratitude to all of them.
Yes, you’ve been hurt, you’ve been misled, you’ve been let down. This post is to tell you that don’t ever give up on people, you never know when the next miracle is waiting to happen.
I wish I could tell someone. I’m scared. I’m scared of the storm that’s raging outside. Each time the lightning strikes, the empty space comes alive with light. But only for a second, before everything plunges back into darkness. The windows are whistling. No matter how hard I try to fasten them shut, the storm finds a way to reach me. The rustling trees sound like apocalypse and the rattling doors feel like monsters trying to break in. I’ve never felt more alone. I try to think happy thoughts, and for a moment it works. But within seconds they’re replaced by the voice. The same voice that derides me for being happy, the voice that tells me that I don’t deserve it. The voice that keeps me from feeling too lucky, being too content. The voice loves the storm. I hate it. It seems like it’ll go on forever. Can’t imagine a more miserable infinity than this. The lightning is striking closer with each passing second; the clouds are angrier, and the shadows darker. The goosebumps on my skin are the physical manifestations of the chaos in my head. But one singular thought can be heard out loud. The storm, make it stop. I wish I could tell someone. I’m scared.
Take a chance.
Don’t just send friend requests, be a friend.
Don’t ask them where they’re from, or what they do.
Ask them who they are.
Ask them at what point life turned them into a cynic.
Ask them why they’re afraid of thunderstorms.
Ask them why a butterfly makes them smile.
Ask them why the moon makes them sad.
Tell them why you love history.
Tell them what keeps you up at 2 a.m.
Tell them about your favorite spot in the city.
Tell them how your imagined future looks like.
See their life through their eyes.
Show them your life through your eyes.
Don’t just take selfies, make memories.
Dig deep till you find their warm, pulsating heart.
Let them dig deep till they find yours.
Promise to be there for them.
Be there for them.
Demand their shoulder when you want to cry.
Go ahead, take a chance.
Be a friend.
What do you do when there is nothing left to say?
You walk the fuck away.