For this, I sing.
The long awaited.....
So in my livejournal hiatus, I got over Sean, which I've said a lot in an attempt to dispell him from my memories, but never really meant til now. Somewhere in between a broken recolection and zoning in on a year since he was mine, I realized that I'm ready to let him go. It still makes me sad to think about, makes my eyes moist, but I suspect that you'll always miss the one that got away. Or maybe there will always be a fire in your heart for the ones you truly loved. In either case, I'm over it, and exponentially lonely. I'm hoping that the immediate aftermath of accepting a lost love is the worst, the most hollow, because most nights, I can't breathe because of how empty and raw I am. I figure that this can't last long but I catch myself worrying about another new begining, knowing that it will end like this, again. Wondering if it could have ever been worth being alone with roseanne and a cat that has a dead lizard hanging from his mouth like a present.
In other, slighty more depressing news, the three year anniversary of my father's passing rolled on in this month. I trick myself into thinking that it will get easier, but of course, it won't. This year, it took a few days to sink in. I was feeling proud, three days later while taking a bubble bath, for thinking of it, and getting on with my day. But then....a song pierced me and I lost it. I cried so hard my head spun with a mental tally of everything that has gone on without him. A quick calculation of sunrises he never saw. The moments he will miss. How many times during the last year I wished I could have talked to him. How many nights I curled up in bed, cursing him for lying to me. I dug my nails into my skin so I could have something real to hold on to, other than bitter resentment and more tears than water in my tub. I will never get over it, and I wish that day was not on the calendar.
I hate my job, but at least I have a job. I fight with Tom more often than not, but at least he's there. I cry more than I laugh, but at least a still dance and sing. My optimism is slowly coming back, along with my desire to write. I'm stuck in a rut, and my confidence is at an all time low, but I see it like this. If I didn't feel this hopeless occasionally, I may have never known how magical it is to hope.
Welcome home, inner beauty. You have been long missed.
So in my livejournal hiatus, I got over Sean, which I've said a lot in an attempt to dispell him from my memories, but never really meant til now. Somewhere in between a broken recolection and zoning in on a year since he was mine, I realized that I'm ready to let him go. It still makes me sad to think about, makes my eyes moist, but I suspect that you'll always miss the one that got away. Or maybe there will always be a fire in your heart for the ones you truly loved. In either case, I'm over it, and exponentially lonely. I'm hoping that the immediate aftermath of accepting a lost love is the worst, the most hollow, because most nights, I can't breathe because of how empty and raw I am. I figure that this can't last long but I catch myself worrying about another new begining, knowing that it will end like this, again. Wondering if it could have ever been worth being alone with roseanne and a cat that has a dead lizard hanging from his mouth like a present.
In other, slighty more depressing news, the three year anniversary of my father's passing rolled on in this month. I trick myself into thinking that it will get easier, but of course, it won't. This year, it took a few days to sink in. I was feeling proud, three days later while taking a bubble bath, for thinking of it, and getting on with my day. But then....a song pierced me and I lost it. I cried so hard my head spun with a mental tally of everything that has gone on without him. A quick calculation of sunrises he never saw. The moments he will miss. How many times during the last year I wished I could have talked to him. How many nights I curled up in bed, cursing him for lying to me. I dug my nails into my skin so I could have something real to hold on to, other than bitter resentment and more tears than water in my tub. I will never get over it, and I wish that day was not on the calendar.
I hate my job, but at least I have a job. I fight with Tom more often than not, but at least he's there. I cry more than I laugh, but at least a still dance and sing. My optimism is slowly coming back, along with my desire to write. I'm stuck in a rut, and my confidence is at an all time low, but I see it like this. If I didn't feel this hopeless occasionally, I may have never known how magical it is to hope.
Welcome home, inner beauty. You have been long missed.