thoughtless-academic

[thoughtless-academic]

How much can you miss something before you forget how it feels?

I won’t say the nights come easy anymore. Stirring, back and forth, trying this position and that helps no one—sleep eludes me like the a faint whisper I cannot quite discern. I don’t remember the last time I felt so restless; it feels like the last time I fell into a deep slumber was years ago.

I can remember vividly, however, the last time I nearly slept comfortably. I despised it at the time, but reminiscing reminds me of how I took that sensation for granted.

With his arms around me I felt safe. Secure. Like I could go nowhere, not that I was meaning to be anywhere else. Soft conversation flowed between us, and I could feel the rumble in his chest. Had shivers crawl up my neck when he pressed his nose there. Laced my fingers through his when his hand pressed over my stomach.

What flushed my cheeks with red-hot blood were none of those things, but instead how rapidly, frantically, his heart pounded against my back. I could sense it, his nervousness and excitement and anxiety, but it was only reflected in myself.

I don’t think I loved him in that moment.

But something did come crumbling down inside me.

Afterwards a sense of guilt ate my beating heart alive; I swore never to let myself be coaxed to a man’s hold again. Not after being sliced up and thrown away. Not after forgetting who I am to be a toy. But this one—this one seemed different. Felt different. Where the last one was clammy and cold, he was quiet and precise… intentional.

And more than that, he brought peace to my swarming mind with a look. His arms around me and his chest to my back was the blanket I needed.

I did not fall in love that day.

But a fondness for him was born.

A trembling, guilty, satisfying fondness.

Lately it seems I cannot erase these thoughts nor escape them. We have no title. No label or name. It is clear what our feelings our for one another, but we remain just inches from the other. Reaching out but never quite touching.

It’s agonizing. I want him so badly. I want to be called his so badly. But he can’t. And if he can’t, then I am left to tear my fondness to size: When it grows to deep and large, I must rip away the edges until I am not so keenly fond. We play this game constantly, and yet I am always losing. Always letting the fondness grow too big. I fear one day the fondness will become unmanageable, the roots too deep for me to rip, and on that day I break myself again.

How much can you miss something before you forget how it feels?

How much longer will I rot with the memory of a man’s touch I cannot have? How much longer before his eyes stop looking into mine and our fingers unlace themselves? How much longer must I lose sleep because I cannot slumber unless he is with me?

How much longer must I neglect my fondness before it dies?

My heart, it seems, enjoys the taste of my tears. I have yet to make a decision with my heart that has ended with my smiling face peering back at me in polished mirrors.

I will cry over this one. I might even weep. It will hurt, moving on. It will hurt, turning away from his gaze rather than gently meeting it. It will hurt, walking away when I’d do anything to spin on my heel and fall into him.

This life was not meant to be rewarding. I know that. But does that mean I will always be left never having the one thing I want? I don’t care about your money or your riches or your jobs or your company or your luxuries. I don’t care. I’d toss all of it to the waves of the sea in a goddamn instant if it meant I could have love. That is all I want.

Unconditional. Requited. Passionate. Everlasting.

Love.

Everywhere I look I see it—in others, in themselves. But I can NEVER have it. It is the thing that is always just in reach but never quite enough for me to grasp it.

One day I will learn there is no love for me.

One day I will realize that I am not built for it.

One day.

On that day, I will be content.

But today,

is not that day.

And I am not content.

[thoughtless-academic]

How long it has been since I have admitted to myself weakness.

It brings me no joy to admit such things, a smear on my pride, on my being. But I will admit plainly and truly here that I am ashamed and painfully weak in a way that cannot be quelled.

I love him. I love him so much. Every bit about him.

I want everything about him, and I had thought I moved on.

Every time I believe I’ve healed from this, he comes back to claim my heart with a smile, or even a glimpse of those beautiful eyes.

I hate myself for being so weak to him.

He doesn’t deserve it.

And I wish I deserved him. I wish Yahuah would bring us together, would seal our hearts as one.

I wish he hadn’t told me that he missed us.

Me.

I wish he hadn’t told me that he never regretted what we were.

Because now I will always brew over what we could have been.

What we weren’t.

I’ve never been so agonizingly sick at the thought of being deprived of something.

But I want love.

I want love that is forever, that is loyal, that is home.

I have never wanted something so badly in my life.

I want love.

And I want it with him.

But I won’t get that. Not unless the grace of Yahuah brings it to us.

All I can do is sit and be patient.

Please Yahuah.

Please.

Bring him back to me.

[thoughtless-academic]

Dear God,

I just want him back.

Please. Please. Please. Please bring him back to me.

Every day I shudder and shrivel when I think back to what we were. What we weren’t. My heart claws itself to shreds whenever he voice flutters by. My throat becomes heavy with a leaden ball. My knees go weak. My mind faint.

I’ve never felt so physically ill at the loss of someone before.

So I am praying now.

Please, dear gracious Yahuah.

Bring my love back to me.

I beg of you.

Give him to me in his entirety—his heart, his mind, his soul, his body.

Bring him back to me I beg.

I shall do anything.

Anything.

[thoughtless-academic]

Everything comes tumbling down eventually. That’s always how it works, how it will work.

The greatest empires topple themselves over, the greatest minds stricken with disease, the greatest wonders exploited by the wonderers.

Everything tumbles down, and there isn’t a thing you can do to stop it.

So why do you continue to try and stop it from happening? Even though you know it’s hopeless? Even though you know your efforts mean nothing in the end?

Why is it so hard for you to let go? It shouldn’t be. You know better than most how easy it is to let go… why, you’ve been let go yourself too many times to count on a single hand! So why can’t you finally just let yourself let go?

You’re hurting yourself more than helping, yknow.

You should just forget about it now; that thing you’re so attached to. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing means anything. So just let it go already.

Stop convincing yourself you live in a fantasy world where everything’s going to work itself out and you’re going to emerge a hero on top of it all. You’re not a hero. You’re not saving anything. That’s a ridiculous little fantasy you made up to help you cope.

God, if I could stop being pulled into these fantasies I think I could heal.

But I’m a product of everything I’ve told you not to do. I don’t hate you. But I know what it’s like to believe in things, to want to be a hero, and to watch yourself fall deeper than you’ve ever fallen before.

[thoughtless-academic]

They moved on so quick it left you reeling, didn’t it?

One moment it was the two of you and it seemed nothing could interrupt what you had. It was you and them against everything: fate, time, love… all of it.

They were your person. You felt like you could do anything, so long as they were beside you.

And then they changed their mind.

They decided this home you built was no longer enough for them. They decided they didn’t want it anymore, so they destroyed it.

Then they were gone. And they took everything from you, right? Those little moments that sparkled like gold; when you felt their hands on your body, the way they smelled, the sound of their voice, the color of their eyes. Everything you had come to recognize as safe was now gone.

They hurt you, so, so bad, didn’t they?

It hurt not just because of how fast they left, but how fast they moved on too. They threw away your happiness so they could repeat it with the next you.

They left you in shambles, wondering, “Was I easy to forget, or just too replaceable?”

They ripped you into pieces, and acted like it was nothing.

Don’t feel like you have to get up right now. Or later. Or anytime soon at all. This wasn’t fair to you. So it’s okay to sit in those pieces.

When you’re ready, start collecting yourself. Rebuilding yourself. Finding the things that make you you, without them.

It’s okay.

Take your time.

[thoughtless-academic]

The most disappointing thing about people is expecting them to be different.

“Not this one,” you say, hopeful that this time you’ll be right, “this one will be different.”

And they’re never different, are they?

Time and time again, you want them to be different.

How many times more until you realize they never will be?

Thus is the fatal flaw of our foolish hope.