rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 1,281

I haven´t been on here for a very long time. Life has moved on. I´ve graduated from university, I have a full-time job, and my boyfriend and I's second anniversary is coming up. Things have changed for the better, and I´ve grown up.

But there is still something nagging at me.

I am turning 22 in a few months. The age you were the first time we spoke, what will be 5 years ago.

Five years ago. That's basically a quarter of my life. You've been in my life or in the memory of it for a quarter of it. I hate that so much. Like a smell of rot that never goes away.

But anyway, I'm going to turn 22. For the past three birthdays, every 14th of February, amongst the cake and the love and the celebrations, I can't help but picture a 17-year-old me sitting across the table. So unaware. So innocent. So naïve. So little self-worth. A child, in every sense of the word. And every year, I retch at the idea of fellow friends, classmates, whoever, praying upon that girl.

I think I have moved on, but I don't think I can ever really get over it, because every year, for the rest of my life, I'll have more and more perspective on what happened, on how I was taken advantage of. A child and an adult.

I recently saw a clip of Bon Iver talking about one of his new songs, saying how its about guilt, a perfectly normal and healthy emotion, that you do eventually have to let go of because it's not productive.

I thought of you. Do you still feel guilty? You don't listen to my songs as often. Life has moved on for you too. Have you let go?

I don't think it's fair that you get to do that. I don't think it's fair that you get to forgive yourself if I haven't forgiven you.

I hope that every 14th of February you think about me. And you think about how I'm turning 22. And how you are a terrible person for what you did.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 317

You have a new girl. I wanna die.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 313 pt. 2

Also, in honour of it having been 10 months since the initial break up, here's a Taylor Swift lyric:

10 months sober I must admit, just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it

10 months older I won't give in, now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 313

Well, first of all: Holy Shit. It's almost been a year since everything collapsed.

Actually, no. Fuck that. I had a couple months of peace but August, September, December and January were all fucked bc you couldn't keep your mouth shut. I'm so conviced that if you had never told me you loved me, I would be fine by now. I would have accepted that you were never hiding anything, you just didn't love me, and moved on with my life. But knowing that you did want me only made things worse. It's what I thought I wanted to hear but it just messed everything up so much more.

It's been an interesting time, and I suppose before I go into any of my recent revelations, I should detail the more recent events:

You couldn't help but play nice during Christmas. I kind of knew it was coming, I won't lie. I knew you weren't blocked on my Whatsapp, and I just knew in my gut something was gonna happen. And it did. You apologized. And in that moment I just wanted to die. I cried infront of my newly made friends (it wasn't pretty). For just a moment I thought you realized what you'd done and I almost let you off the hook. But I didn't say anything for two weeks. And then in a drunken ramble I replied exaclty what I felt. I really deeply regret that conversation. I meant every word I said, but I was just so caught up in my own sadness and anger that I just exploded. But I guess it's always the case- you're always gonna regret something in those kinds of situations. We haven't talked since then, and I've come really really close to reaching out.

Then, you found me on tiktok. At that point I knew you were on the app, didn't block you. I always leave a thread to follow just in case. You followed me, liked a few videos. One of them was about you giving me and eating disorder which tbh I cannot justify. But that's when I saw that there's another girl. Also foreign, also artsy. surprise surprise. Playlists on spotify, trips to Brighton, Van Gogh exhibitions. Everything I ever wanted and fantasized about, you were giving to another girl. I don't think I've cried liked that in a while. Its just so insane how I can know so deeply in my heart that you were never good for me and that I did the right thing for a few weeks and then almost reach out the next. Every time I think I'm over it, it comes back and hits me like a train.

But I didn't reach out, and instead I started going to therapy so...yay me I guess. But anyways, onto the revelations:

I am so immensely lonely. I knew coming back home for break was gonna be hard, and it has, but therapy has actually helped me out. I know what to look out for, I know how to look at things in a different way now. And one of them is you. Or, me missing you. It really isn't a coincidence that I only really miss you when I'm bored, with too much time to waste, and especially at night. It makes since that right now, at a time where I don't really have any other sources for that, my mind turns to you. I don't want to be this way. I don't want to want attention or validation from men. But it makes sense. Daddy Issues should be a real psychological diagnosis, because I'd be the poster child (lol that was kind of a pun).

I try to think of what I want from you, what I miss, and it's literally just attention. validation. cute comments that felt extra special because of how rare they were (god I was trained like a dog). I do miss getting to know you, but it's definitely not the focus of my thoughts. They are far more selfish. I kind of hate that I'm realizing that though, because it makes me think that any realtionship I might end up in or any romantic interaction I'll ever have will be purely for my own benefit, and that just feels wrong.

Thing is, I feel like for now, I'd rather try and find another guy that can give me that, than to stay single and keep looking over my shoulder at you while pretending I'm getting better at it and working on myself. I do have a target in mind, but we'll see how it goes. But yeah, it's just kind of cliché at this point: girl who thinks she's never going to be loved keeps looking back at the only example she has had to prove otherwise.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 229

Every time I think I’ve come to terms with the amount of manipulation and gaslighting I went through, I unpack another layer of cruelty. But what’s the point of knowing how badly you hurt me if I can’t get over it?

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 206

You apologized. And I don’t forgive you. 

I don’t owe you any more of my words, but I just thought I’d say this:

I appreciate the apology, but I’m not sure that I forgive you. I’m glad that you’re starting to become aware of the pain you caused, but the fact that it took you so long to figure it out when I believe I made it plainly obvious just makes it sting more. I’m not gonna sugarcoat it to make you feel better or to minimize it for myself either- It was fucking brutal. I can only describe it as emotional whiplash. I walk away from it with a lot of scars and some still open wounds. All I can do now is try to remember the lessons I learned the hard way, and I hope you do the same. Since you seem to be reflecting on it the same way I did, there’s a few things I hope you take away from this:

if someone wants to be with you romantically when you don’t, don’t keep them as a friend. Let them go completely. Don’t make them make the choice of leaving. If they truly want you they’ll have any piece of you they can get, and then the choice doesn’t really exist, or at the very least won’t be an easy one. (Unless they have more self control than I did)

There’s a recurring pattern of people expecting more intimacy from you in your life. Maybe it’s you that should be giving a bit more and not them that want too much. 

Just because you’re aware of your flaws, it doesn’t excuse them or make it better. Stop self-deprecating and then making no effort to change or starting things with “how do I say this without sounding like a dick”, just to say something you probably shouldn’t. It doesn’t make it better; it actually makes it worse. 

I understand that your selfishness is almost fundamental to your way of being and comes from a place of self-preservation, but I think you need to think twice about how much it affects those around you. I don’t think it’ll change anything, but you should be aware of how hard it is to be on the other side of it. 

I don’t know if you were aware that you were doing or not, but you gaslighted me constantly. You need to start validating people’s feelings. Stop saying “im sorry it made you feel that way” and start saying “im sorry I did that, I recognize it was wrong.” Your message shows that maybe you’ve already realized this, but I’m reemphasizing it bc it is so so so important. If you had done it a year ago instead of now, things would’ve maybe worked out. 

I’m not going to pretend like your apology makes everything ok, because it doesn’t. I won’t even bother mentioning the age gap. That’s just the pillar on which the rest of the problems stood. You really really really hurt me. There’s no changing that and there’s no fixing it. But it did finally give me the closure I needed bc you finally recognized what you did. However, I don’t think you’ll ever grasp the full extent of it. I really don’t.

Again I hope that you take something good away from this as I am trying to. I won’t block you on SoundCloud. I could never take the songs I wrote away from you. I won’t block your number either either, but I don’t promise a reply to anything you may choose to say. I blocked you on Instagram for a reason that I maintain: I lived for your eyes for almost two years. It got to the point were I felt like I was only posting to keep you updated when you wouldn’t talk to me, or to incite a conversation, and afterwards to put out a certain image of my state of mind. I needed to live for myself again. 

People say what doesn’t kill you makes you stonger. Well I almost died, and I don’t feel stronger. I feel weaker and more damaged than I ever have before. I wish I never met you, but because that can’t happen, I suppose a shitty, late apology will have to suffice. 

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 169 (lol)

I’m slowly starting to realize that the only way I’m going to forget you is if I remove you completely from my life. No instagram, no SoundCloud, nothing. I don’t follow you, you don’t follow me, I block you on everything. 

I know that it was one of the first things I should’ve done, but I told myself that I would after getting over you. But I don’t think I will ever be completely over you unless I do it. Even if I don’t think about you that much anymore (depends on the day) I still, without fail, check to see if you have seen my story every day. I still see your stories through a spam account so that you won’t know it’s me, like a fucking middle schooler would. It’s pathetic honeslty. But the point is, it keeps you on my mind. We’re still communicating even if it’s through the tiniset of signals and I needed to cut you off for a reason. 

I just can’t bring myself to do it. I still feel like I should send one last smoke signal to say goodbye. for real this time. 

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 158

We’re doing it again. We’re talking through smoke signals. I post a song, you like it, I post a poll, you reply to it. It’s the smallest of actions. Like a game of ping pong- a tap, a signal, like morse code, to let me know that you know, to let you know that i know you know. But what do we know? Because right now I don’t know a thing. 

All I really know is that i’m lonely. There. I said it. I’m lonely and I’m desperate. I don’t see why I should try to hide it. I’ve never been good at any of it. I never play hard to get because I’m not. I’m easy. I’d never say no. I only ever said no to you. Deep down I know it was the right thing to do but in the surface level all it means is that I’m in a new city with completely new people and I desperately want someone that feels like home. Someone that I don’t have to start from the beginning with. And today, I ran out of options. 

Today I went for a coffee with a friend I’ve made here since starting uni, and, by pure coincidence, a guy we both knew- they met at a summer camp/schoool thing in the US back in 2019, and I met him in august. Back in the summer I liked him as soon I saw him. He seemed interested but a few things happened and next thing you know I end up with his brother. I wish I hadn’t, but I didn’t realize I’d get the chance to see him consistently if we wanted to, and now it seems the moments passed and the circumstances would make it awkward. Thats what I get for never saying no. The coffee went great: we were laughing quite a bit but then he had to go back to study. I wanted to see him again but he didn’t seem particularly interested in the idea. I just- I just want someone to want to want me. To like me as much as I like them. Its so stupid, its such an insecure thing to feel, but I do. 

Thing is, it isn’t even about this guy. He’s great, but if I had the chance to see any of the people I met this summer in London I would be stoked. And it just seems like our interactions never mean as much to them as they do to me. They might remember me, but they don’t have that glowing memory of me. It reminds me of when I started to think about all the guys I’ve been with this summer (I say “all” as if I was with that many). I was fine with having a summer fling, and I knew that both parties agreed on what it was, but the second that my brain realized that that meant that I was also just a fling to them, I felt like shit. I felt, not used, just, unmeaningful. Not meaningless, but also not meaningful. God this is so sad... all of this- this guy, these flings, you- I just want to be loved. I just want to feel loved. And I’ll take any chance I can get. And the easiest option as of late has been sex, so sex it is. Hook-up with some, feel wanted, feel sexy, don’t think about the fact that they don’t want you afterwards. 

What would you think of this? It doesn’t even matter- its not like you could fix it; its not like you would even try to. This is my own shit, and I know that. I’ve known that for a long time, but I don’t know how to fix it. Sometimes I don’t even want to fix it. I just want to keep feeling sorry for myself for being unloveable. Unloveable...i wish i knew what kind of childhood trauma caused that one. The academic validation, the sexual validation, all of it...it’s all just a way to try and convince myself that I can be memorable. I believe my friends love me. I believe my family loves me. But I can’t believe that someone could love me romantically. That’s why whenever something even remotely similar to it arises, I take the chance. That’s why I can’t play hard to get- I don’t want to risk losing that chance. That’s why it was so fucking hard to leave you- it was the closest thing I had ever had to a relationship, and I didn’t want to lose it because I thought it was the only chance I was ever going to get. Rationally I knew it wasn’t, but insecurity isn’t rational, and neither is anxiety. 

I wish I loved myself enough to not want to go back to in search of the love I lack. 

“you can’t love someone else if you don’t love yourself first”...I still fucking hate that phrase. I thought it meant that I wouldn’t be able to love someone at all unless I loved myself first, but I think I get it now. Untill the day I can love myself enough to be alone, any love I might feel for someone will always be tinged with the idea that I’ll be trying to get them to stay- it will love expecting love in return; it’ll be selfish. If I love them hard enough, maybe they’ll love me back.

Who wants to pay for my therapy?

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 151

I don’t miss you, I don’t. I miss who I believed you were. It’s cliché and it’s been said a thousand times but at least I know I wasn’t the only one stupid enough to let it happen. 

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 135

So I moved to London, and we didn’t get to recreate Heathrow by Catfish and the Bottlemen.

I landed at Stanstead instead of Heathrow after buying a ticket for the worst possible flight, because I couldn’t ask you which to get. I took the train to Liverpool Street Station instead of having you pick me up, and I hate how conveniant loving you would have been in that moment. I slept in the smallest hotel room I have ever seen instead of your bed, because you aren’t a part of my life anymore. I recorded a cover of the song and I uploaded it the next day, knowing you’d see, and waiting for some kind of response.

“🤦🏻‍♂️”. That was your respone. I saw it, didn’t answer. What could I have said? What do you say to that? It all felt so anticlimactic, but more of the same. I was expecting some sort of initiative. Anything. But not that. I guess I read it as you not caring all that much anymore, because you also didn’t bother to delete it after I saw it. Why would you choose that to break your silence? 

I can see you watching. You know I can. You see every story, every post. I make sure of it. I guess this is for two reasons: on one hand, part of me thinks that even if I can’t share things with you directly, I can do it indirectly, and make sure you see how happy I am so that you’ll be happy for me and proud that I’m doing so well. The other part of me is a little more bitter. She wants you to see how well I’m doing without you being there. To rub it in your face. Sometimes it still feels like I’m living my life only so that you’ll have something to see. 

That first week I almost gave in. I almost texted you. I almost gave an apology that you don’t deserve and I don’t mean. I wrote it down and almost pressed “send” at least ten times a day. But I waited. I told myself that when I met new people, had something to do, I wouldn’t miss you as much. And I guess to some extent it’s true. But I’m tired of having to distract myself. I just want to be over it. 

Its an addiction. I feel it now more than ever. You can get better, but there’s that little part of you that still wants what you know you don’t need. What you know is bad for you. I always found the comparison of love and drugs to be a cheesy one, and I maintain that to an extent. A more appropriate comparison is that of attention and drugs. Love and attention aren’t the same, god knows I’ve learnt that much. And so, you sober up, count days up instead of down, replace your poison with other things (some more beneficial than others, but none as harmful as the original). Soon you’ll find its been a week, a month, two; and yet no matter how high the numbers get, there’s still that part of you. The second you lower the volume of everything else in your head, you can hear its faint whisper. On bad days, it’s more like a scream. But you fight, out of pride (you can’t lose again), out of fear (what will happen if I go back?), out of exhaustion. That last one might seem contradictory. Why would you continue fighting if you’re exhausted? I suppose the answer is a simple one: it took more out of me to be with you than without you. Both are horrible for their own reasons, but at least one of them is predictable. 

So I didn’t text you. And I was right. The second new people arrived, I stopped thinking about you. I had something to cover up the noise of you with again. But one thing I didn’t realize was the extent of my injuries. You’d think so many months of thinking it over would make me aware of it, but I only saw the pain that was related to the abscense of you. About how much I relied on your opinion of me, your attention, etc. What I didn’t realize was the long term shit I’d have to deal with. Like trying to come to peace with the fact that I knew from the start that this would end badly, and yet going with it anyways. Like hating myself for oversharing with anyone because I can’t do it with you anymore. Like trying so fucking hard not to make the same mistakes with other guys and that meaning that I want to hide all of the darkest parts of me because I still think that they are what drew you away. 

As always, there’s a Taylor Swift lyric for the occasion. Feels like every week I relate to a different one that I didn’t want to: “And I see the permanent damage you did to me” and the iconic “time won’t fly it’s like I’m paralyzed by it; I’d like to be my old self again but I’m still trying to find it.”

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 95

I miss feeling anything for you. I don’t love you anymore; enough time has passed where I can actually see how much pain it caused me and how little you valued it. But I also don’t hate you. I don’t think I could ever hate you. And it’s not because I care too much for you. You can love someone and hate them too. It’s because of a lot of complicated things that I don’t feel like getting into because honestly I don’t even understand it yet. But I don’t hate you. 

I used to miss our conversations, now I can’t seem to remember why they seemed so valuable in the first place. I used to miss your voice, now all I can hear is the whine in your tone as you begged for an explanation as to my lack of reciprocity. I used to feel such an intense rage when I thought of you that I would make my lips bleed from biting on them so hard to stop myself from screaming. I used to feel joy derived from notifications bearing your name, I used to feel excitement in your name popping up on my livestream, I used to feel admiration, gratitude, regret, fury, jealousy, lust, hope… I used to feel everything for you. 

Now, I just...don’t. I don’t love you, I don’t hate you, I’m not indifferent towards you, I’m not bitter or hopeful or anything at all. There’s just a void where a treasure trove used to lay. And I miss it. For all its shitty things and all its complexities, I miss having that fuel. I’ve been thinking about telling you I want to talk in person but if I'm honest with myself I don’t need closure; it’s just an excuse to see you again and see what might happen. I’m curious to see what you’d be like while loving me and I don’t love you. How the tables turn. Maybe this is what you did too: lead me on because you wanted to feel me love you without having to do anything in return. I’ve gotten so used to needing more of an explanation from you, to having more to say, that now the idea of being content with the last thing I said seems strange. I don’t have anything to say to you. I showed you my fury and my hurt timed perfectly with your actually caring about what I felt and regretting it. I don’t need anything more. But there’s this cruel little part fo me that wants to try again and ask why you love me now but not then. Not when you needed to. 

Maybe I’m just bored. Maybe I got too used to having someone to message or call. Plus, you revived to the possibility of texting or calling you instead of having it be the other way around. After I broke up with you it stopped being an option out of pure pride. Even now, I think it’s the only thing that’s stopping me: the fact that I told you to stay away from me won’t allow me to break the silence first. So I just hope that, like the first time around, you’ll remain stubborn in your attempts to contact me. That after seeing me arrive in London you won’t be able to resist the temptation of writing one last time to see each other. But there’s two things wrong with that idea: for one, last time I told you to stay away, I told you I “needed space” in a calm, sad voice. This time I said it through a clenched jaw and furious eyes that you couldn’t see, but could hear nonetheless. What might help with that is the fact that you now apparently have feelings for me, but from that derives problem number two. I don’t know how long these feelings will last or how quickly or determinedly you’ll try to move on. One month. You only need to wait a month. Personally, it would take me more than a month if you’ve really been obsessed for one month already. But still. Who knows. I just hope you write to me, because my pride won’t keep me still much longer. 

And yet the whole point of me writing this is that I can’t understand why I want it to happen so badly. Because I don’t want to be with you. I don’t think we could be friends after everything, but I also don’t want any form of revenge or anything like that. So why do I want it to happen so badly? And from here we go back to the beginning: because I miss feeling something for you, and somehow I’ve convinced myself that in the now grotesquely defromed coffeeshop scenario I feel something begin to bubble up again and allow for one of three very dramatic scenarios: stroming out of sadi coffee shop with tears in my eyes and a rediscovered rage; or a gentle smile, a comprehensive and genuine goodbye, and no words left to say; or a passionate kiss/hug and a new friend or partner to make me feel less alone in a new city. This last scenario seems particularly tempting because of that last factor. Not being completely alone in London. Being completely practical, I would really benefit from maintaining contact with you and having someone to call if I’m lonely, so maybe thats pushing all this to the forefront of my mind aswell. 

But pride pride pride. My pride tells me to at least wait until I’m in London to see if he’ll contact me first, and its been simultaneously difficult and easy to restrain myself. I think it’s because what I’m actually excited about is the idea of seeing you again, and even if I sent the message now, I’d still have to wait at least another three weeks for that to happen, so its better to wait.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 78

I don’t know what to do with you.

I know I’m closer to the end of the tunnel than I was two months ago. That much I can be sure of. Seeing that video of me sobbing the day after our phone call reminded me of how sharp the pain was and how much it’s dulled since then. Other things have become sharper though. Like my hatred for you. For those moments when I’d easily let myself be dragged along by your sly words that knew exactly what to say to never say anything at all and make me feel like shit for wanting more. I can see the manipulation a lot more clearly. I can see your flaws not as these charming parts of you that I considered curious but as these useless excuses you constantly employed. I swear it’s like someone changed my rose colored lenses for magnifying glasses and now I can suddenly see all the detail in each lie or half truth- although they’re pretty much the same thing.

Ever since that phone call (and long before then, but especially since) I’ve been debating in my head whether your silence was due to a lack of emotion or a lack or courage. I think this last interaction proves the latter to be correct.

You are, simply put, a selfish ass :) and the worst part is you already know this. You used your self awareness as a way to disguise its consequence; as if admitting to the crime made it ok. It also was supposed to make it my fault remaining by your side.

“He warned you”. Funny how so much of this is reflected in all the lyrics I’ve dedicated to your name. How I used that phrase to blame myself for never being satisfied, as if you weren’t the one in control. We both know you were always the one in control. Always had the upper hand. Another lyric.

And yet, despite the fact that I’m more aware of it now, I still can’t completely shake the idea that’s been a leech in my mind for the last YEAR (Oh god it’s been a year. I wasted a year of my life on this): maybe one day I won’t think of you as anything more than a friend. Maybe one day I actually won’t want anything more from you. Won’t seek your approval. Won’t want you to know everything. Maybe then we’ll meet again and be happy as friends. Actual real friends. Nothing more. No blurry lines, not even the ones you wanted. Friends.

But I know that that is the least of my problems. Even if -no, when- I get to that point, the past remains preserved in the lines and lines of text and songs. Even when I get to that point, you’ll be the same person. You’ll still be a selfish coward and it won’t make any difference whether I want to kiss you or dance on your grave.

And to that, my brain’s rebuttal is that maybe you will change. Maybe you’ll see damage you’ve done. If this miracle happens soon enough we might even be together and finally have what I wanted for so long. And if it happens later, I’ll be able to say with every last bit of satisfaction “yeah, you were an ass. I’ll consider your apology and get back to you on that one.”

But the hope remains. The same one I wrote about in my journal. Its focus shifts to different things, depending on how much I’m willing to ask for. “Maybe we’ll be together.” “Maybe he’ll apologize.” “Maybe he’ll fight for me.”...

And that is the hope that I need to burn away. The best way to do that is anger. It’s might be petty and immature, sure, but it’s effective. After it’s gone I’ll turn all my feelings towards you into pity and indifference, but getting there without the stepping stone of anger feels like a leap of faith.

So yeah. I’m angry. Let’s see how long this fire lasts.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 57

It’s been exactly 365 days since I last saw you in person. It’s strange to think that I know you, considering that I’m a completely different person than I was back then, and knowing you probably are too.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 48

Time passes. It’s so strange. Its been 46 days since I last talked to you and tomorrow it’ll be 47. I don’t come up with new feelings or thoughts anymore. Everything is pretty much the same: a particularly poignat mix of regret, anger, guilt, melancholy, disbelief and deep, deep, sorrow. 

Every thought I have regarding you is just a re-run of a conclusion I arrived to before. Part of me wants to think that that means that the worst part is over and now all that’s left is watching this fade slowly. It’s kind of ironic really. I wanted to have a conversation that day because I felt like you were slowly fading away despite your insistance that you were still there, while never being there. And yet all it did was remove you and leave a cloud of smoke that I still have to patiently wait to leave. And I’m not patient. Not with myself anyways.

The gusts of summer wind help. I knew they would. Everyone said to do it then and not now because I would have all this travelling to somehow distract me. But there are always pauses and quieter moments, and in those it doesn’t take me more than a minute to stray to this, and then begin the long, aruduos process of vomiting whatever feelings may bubble up that night into a half-written song and drag myself back to wherever someone called my name. 

Still, I think I’m getting better. It’s not as persistant of a pain. Now it comes in waves. A way that I’ve been able to see how much better or worse I am on a specific day is by asking myself how appealing it seems to see you again. On bad days, I’ll take the now seemingly infamous coffee-shop scenario and twist it into an impossible movie with unrealistic versions of not just you, but myself as well. On good days, I can see the awkwardness of that encounter upfront, how I’d have nothing to say other than the blanant truth that you shattered me to the core, and that I loved you for it, to which you would respond with a neutral sigh and a small glance and a speech about growth and distance that I’ll “one day understand”. 

However, no matter the day, it’s always me that asks to meet up in that scenerio. Because I know that you never will, and that’s when the waves come.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 41

I’m drunk and high, so instead of telling you, I’ll tell the internet: you were an asshole. A complete dick. Super insensitive. But I miss you.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 39

I’ve been feeling a hundred things throughout the process of somehow going on with my life after losing such an important part of it. but the one that truly breaks my heart is the thought of how beautiful things were in the beginning. and how i can’t pinpoint the moment when everything seemed to rot.

the first time i cried over you was when i wept tears of joy the day i realized i had feelings for you.

i didnt realize i would so often cry for the same reason, but the tears wouldn’t be so happy.

[rantingtyraidsofabrokenheart]

Day 38

Ive been here for a week and before it was easy enough not to think about you because I had friends around. But now that she’s gone and the days have been a little colder, I can’t help but think about last summer and when we talked about you catching a spontaneous flight to come see me. And you did of course. Sometimes- most days honestly - I wish you hadn’t, and that you never became anything other than a fun internet conversation that would eventually fade away into nothing. Since you left after what at the time seemed the best 24 hours of my life, I have been living my life through the lens of wanting you to be there. It was at its worst right after you left, and it calmed down during the school year because there wasn’t that much to show you. But now that it’s summer again and everything shines a little bit brighter and everything seems a little more special, I can’t stay away from the thought that you could’ve been here if only I had stayed. If only I had held on for a little longer until you got a few days off work and were able to catch another flight and keep the promise that I would see you again.

But deep down I know you wouldn’t have come anyways. Maybe you would’ve excused yourself saying that you were too busy, that ten days of quarantine after only a weekend with me wouldn’t be worth it, that we would see eachother in September anyways. So no, I shouldn’t have stayed, because independently of all the other reasons I seem to have to remind myself of every night, my biggest hope- that of seeing you again- wouldn’t have come true anyways.

Now all that’s left is realizing that you would’ve made for shitty company anyways.