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Loving you was the last thing I was really, truly good at.

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A Brief Interlude: A Small Hiatus

Hello, everyone! I hope your holidays have been amazing so far! There are now over 10k of you lovely people; I can't believe how quickly this blog has grown. Thank you, sincerely, to every one of you. I appreciate every like and reblog. I feel like I say that in every "Interlude" post, but it's true. Due to both medical issues that I've touched on in the past and some recent personal issues, I'll be taking a brief hiatus for some much needed self-care. I shouldn't be gone long, but I need some time away from the internet, at least for a bit. No worries, though! Self-care at this moment just means some time to myself to watch some feel-good, old-school anime and play some games (*ahem* Overwatch *ahem*) I've been neglecting between work and dealing with my emotional bullshit. I also need some time away from all of... Well, this, to be able to reflect and think over things rationally. I know that I'm not making any progress in this whole endeavor, and I need to figure out if the topics and themes I write about in this blog are helping or hindering me. Yes, I miss him, and a part of me always will. But I'm looking 30 in the face, and I need to decide what's best for me. Whether that means letting go entirely and moving on or finding some kind of peace and contentment being alone, I'm not sure yet. But I don't think I'll find the answers on here right now. I'll be back, probably within the week. But I'm not sure the direction this blog will take when I am. I've been contemplating either making this a private, password-protected blog and linking it to him with an apology, deleting it entirely, or shifting the focus on to other, related topics that aren't so personally connected to me or him. Or continuing as I have. If any of you have any ideas or opinions about this, don't hesitate to send me an ask. While I won't be actively posting or checking my dash, I'll still be reading my askbox. I hope all of you have a great weekend and an amazing New Year's Eve! I'll see you all next year! -withinliminalspaces

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I wanted to write something poetic or profound tonight, but couldn't find the words.

I just miss you.

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They say to 'find what you love and let it kill you'.

Well, I looked and found you.

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忘れなくても baby　好きでも いいですか？ ずっと　忘れない… Baby, even if you forget me Is it okay for me to still love you? I'll never forget you...

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I know you probably won't see this, but I have no other way to contact you, so I have to hope it reaches you somehow. It's officially Christmas where you are, so: Merry Christmas, Sir. I hope it's an amazing day and, above all else, that you're happy.

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And it's strange: we'll probably never be together. But when I hear the word "love," I can only imagine your face.

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'It's a good day,' I tell myself, reading texts on my phone without squinting. 'It's a good day,' as I play video games and can actually read the menus. I wake up in the morning and can read the DVDs on the shelf across my room. 'It's a good day.' When I get into my car, I glance at the stop sign down the road. I smile to myself as I put the key in the ignition. 'It's a good day.' I can no longer really recall a time when these small, simple checks were not everyday occurances, habits so ingrained that I do them without thinking. I don't remember what the world looks like without the ever-worsening blur, the darkness that encroaches in my peripheral vision. Colours are becoming dull and muted, the lightest shades already impossible for me to tell apart. I won't lie: I live in constant panic, waiting for the day that I no longer need the checks. Each morning before I open my eyes, I wonder if the day before was my last time driving or reading fanfics and I didn't even realise it. But the real terror resides in the unknowns. What age will my nephew be the last time I see his face? I always tell him that I can't wait to watch him grow up. Will I know what my children look like, if I have them? Will I remember the beauty of a sunset or my mother's face? I don't know how much longer I'll have my vision. I could wake up tomorrow to darkness or be granted another decade of sight. It's strange, living in this constant state of uncertainty. My mental illnesses, while at times unpredictable, are at least explainable. But this has no guarantees or deadlines. A date cannot be stamped across my forehead like an expiration. Maybe it would be easier with a definite end date. Perhaps knowing how long I had would alleviate some of the fear. But I think it would also take what little motivation I still have to go out into the world and just fucking see it. Because if I lose this tomorrow, if I do not see another sunrise, I want to at least be able to say that I saw as much as I could before it was too late.

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Of course I don't deserve you.

I never did.

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I'm tired of pretending. The mask I've always hid behind grown thin and frayed around the edges, barely held together by duct tape and sheer force of will. The facade I've picked and kept and clung to has become a burden, a weight too much for my shoulders to bear; nothing more than a whisper of a breeze needed to send it fluttering to the ground, revealing for any who cared to look the darkest parts of me. I am tired. I don't want to die, not really. I just want to not exist anymore. I've stood on this precipice for years, one footstep away from falling. I don't know when I stopped being afraid, but falling can feel a lot like flying, if only for a moment. I've always wanted to fly. If I were being less than honest with myself, this would be the point at which I'd extoll upon the reasons I have to turn away from the edge. But in this, as I am in most things pertaining to myself, I can only be brutally honest. I've always been my own worst enemy. Despite their claims otherwise, I know I am a burden on my family. How could I not be, with my myriad list of mental illnesses and a neurological disorder that will eventually leave me blind? I am stubborn to a fault, refusing help even when I know I desperately need it, making it even more difficult for those close to me. I shut them out and push them away, telling myself that it's better that way, even though I know I'm hurting them. Though I desperately want it, I refuse to let anyone love me. There is always that voice in the back of my head that whispers I'd only destroy those that try, that my scars and panic attacks and late-night sobbing would only scare them away. My mind refuses to believe kind words said my way; there isn't a single part of me that I actually like, so how could someone else? For all of this, and all the rest left unspoken, I am unsure why I continue to wake up each day. Something inside me, be it my heart or my soul, clings to life, fiercely fighting back against my own self-destructive tendencies. I long for nothing more than to lay down these arms, find a peace to claim as my own, but the war within me rages on. As much as I yearn to fly, my body is screaming that it's afraid of heights.

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So cautiously you walk the dawning, Searching through deserted dreams. He used your love, he used your body And then discarded everything.

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The thing is, I thought we'd have forever to figure it out.

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I am yours. For longer than stars burn, longer than the span of this lifetime and whatever comes next, beyond all proof and all doubt, I am yours. For all that it will kill me.

I will always be yours.

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Do you ever wish that we were something more?

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Look, I lost you a long time ago. And I’ve been trying to be okay with that ever since. But somehow I always circle back to you and I can’t help but wonder if we only get one great love story.

You were that for me. (via mylovingpain)

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I'm not saying he carried stars in his eyes, but my skies have been dark since he left.

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Perhaps you wonder why everything I write is about you. And while it may seem like an easy thing to answer, like so much of life, the obvious is not always right. I write about you not because I miss you or still wish you were with me or even because I still love you, though all of those are true. No, I write about you because to not do so is an impossible task. Thoughts of you rattle around inside me, the only things keeping me alive. My heart beats not to it’s own staccato rhythm, but to the faint echoes of your voice that still remain behind. It is not oxygen that my blood carries, but memories of you, flooding every inch of me. When I close my eyes, it is not to darkness but to visions of you. It is your words that suffuse my brain, drowning out my own. The electrical impulses that race along my nerve endings spark with the passion we once shared. As my fingers dance across the keyboard, the only message that ever manages to get through are my leftover feelings for you.