notanotherlovepage

[notanotherlovepage]

“I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go.”

— Neil Gaiman, The Sandman

[notanotherlovepage]

"I just hope you never stop visiting me in my dreams, because that's all I have of you."

- Unknown

[notanotherlovepage]

—Sylvia Plath, "Apprehensions"

[notanotherlovepage]

don't force the flow

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

I don’t understand what went wrong when my parents made me, when my brain was developing in the womb. I don’t get what happened to my core. I don’t know if it’s my DNA, childhood trauma, or just my rotten soul, but while everyone moves on and reconstructs themselves again, I see myself from the ceiling, stuck in time, with memories and regrets and anger and sadness, and it’s just all there, there, there, constantly there, and people grow and have birthdays and kids and graduate, and I do too! But everywhere I go, I have this huge backpack with all the people I have ever loved that I have to exhaustingly drag through the dirty floor, and I just can’t let it go. I can’t, for the life of me, let go of those hands that aren’t even there anymore, waving frantically from a pool of drowning shadows as if waiting to be saved, and I keep finding myself turning around at the quick glimpse of a smile, the faint sound of laughter, the fleeting feeling of belonging, but the moment I turn around, it’s gone. They’re gone.

It’s a flaw, a defect. Some protein didn’t decode right. Some enzyme doesn’t do its job. Who knows?, but I’ve come to realize I will never get over the people I love. Ever. Years will go by, years have gone by, and I still think and miss and hate and love. And I’ve already accepted it. Just some kind of fucking disease where you just can’t move on; it’s no news. But today it’s especially difficult, today all of those ghosts are very there, scratching their way through my throat and leaving these nasty sores, never really finding their way out, and I’m left speechless and hurting, and every time it’s the same thing; i’m left to remember by myself. I’m left to reminisce, stumbling my way through life, as if i was the grim reaper, in charge of all the souls i’ve ever cared for. And the worst part is, sometimes I kind of wish anyone would experience this same thing as me, because maybe then would I be remembered, maybe then would I be loved the way I love. Maybe then people would say “forever” and actually mean it.

But no, it’s better this way. I bet it’s nice to let go. I bet it’s peaceful, like that subtle sense of relief just after you throw up. I bet it’s nice.

I bet it feels good to move on.

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

But, if i wanna be fair

if i’m gonna take this as punishment

if i’m gonna involve judgement to fate

then how can i ignore the way you stayed with me through the nights in that awful couch?

How can i look over the fact that you helped me shower, you held my hand while i panicked, you hugged me when i cried?

How can i not consider how you called me beautiful in my most vulnerable state?

So if this illness, this sores, this aches are bad karma

If my suffering is a direct consequence of my actions

Then i must have done some amazing things too

Because how else

could i explain

having you?

[notanotherlovepage]

maybe this is karma

maybe i deserve every single ache i had this week

maybe every bad thing that happens to me from now on will be karma

i will never get over what happened

and even if i dont think my decision was inherently wrong, i will always feel like a traitor

i will live with my dirty conscience for the rest of my life

i will never forgive myself for hurting you

ever

[notanotherlovepage]

Memorias de un cuerpo que arde (Antonella Sudasassi Furniss, 2024)

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

do you guys also ruin every good thing in your life or is that just me

[notanotherlovepage]

[notanotherlovepage]

at the end of the day im the love i give, not the love i get