(no subject)
i just ripped out all the written pages i had in my journal.
i was admiring all the blank pages when i found something i had forgotten about.
it was nearly illegible and was written upside down near the back.
"Why did you trick me into thinking that it was ok?
When you're so upset you can barely breathe isn't that usually the time when you're supposed to be the most creative?
I don't have anything left."
everything came flooding back.
i remember writing that in desperation
knowing that no matter what i wrote, it wouldn't make the slightest difference.
i could always write to make you love me before
because there was nothing definite to make me believe you didn't love me.
i could hang off of every kind word.
i believe you absolutely can convince yourself of anything if you have at least one strand of hope in you.
you can have so much faith in something you honestly will overlook the falicies and the doubts.
you can build yourself around an idea or a person
you can tell yourself so many times that it's real
and none of that will matter
because no matter how much hope you have
no matter how much proof you've gathered
no matter how deep your beliefs are
that doesn't make it real.
i wanted so much for you to love me
i was so sure
i don't even remember it getting to the point where i was so deeply in denial that all common sense was lost
but it got there.
and that's what killed me.
you didn't love me.
i couldn't even let that cross my mind before
i knew
i knew that no matter what the world was telling me,
you loved me
i knew that any doubts were a waste of time because
you loved me
i knew that there was no one else that mattered because
you loved me
you were supporting me
you were keeping me going
you were the reason i wanted to make the world better
so that you could live in a place that was as beautiful as you were
and "you"
were a lie.
you were an idea.
and there was nothing i could do about it.
my futile attempt at releasing the torment i felt will be a constant reminder;
in its letters it's crooked, exasperated, and wreckless
but it tells a simple truth:
sometimes,
it doesn't matter how long you've been waiting,
how much you do for him,
or how much you love him,
he just doesn't love you back.
i was admiring all the blank pages when i found something i had forgotten about.
it was nearly illegible and was written upside down near the back.
"Why did you trick me into thinking that it was ok?
When you're so upset you can barely breathe isn't that usually the time when you're supposed to be the most creative?
I don't have anything left."
everything came flooding back.
i remember writing that in desperation
knowing that no matter what i wrote, it wouldn't make the slightest difference.
i could always write to make you love me before
because there was nothing definite to make me believe you didn't love me.
i could hang off of every kind word.
i believe you absolutely can convince yourself of anything if you have at least one strand of hope in you.
you can have so much faith in something you honestly will overlook the falicies and the doubts.
you can build yourself around an idea or a person
you can tell yourself so many times that it's real
and none of that will matter
because no matter how much hope you have
no matter how much proof you've gathered
no matter how deep your beliefs are
that doesn't make it real.
i wanted so much for you to love me
i was so sure
i don't even remember it getting to the point where i was so deeply in denial that all common sense was lost
but it got there.
and that's what killed me.
you didn't love me.
i couldn't even let that cross my mind before
i knew
i knew that no matter what the world was telling me,
you loved me
i knew that any doubts were a waste of time because
you loved me
i knew that there was no one else that mattered because
you loved me
you were supporting me
you were keeping me going
you were the reason i wanted to make the world better
so that you could live in a place that was as beautiful as you were
and "you"
were a lie.
you were an idea.
and there was nothing i could do about it.
my futile attempt at releasing the torment i felt will be a constant reminder;
in its letters it's crooked, exasperated, and wreckless
but it tells a simple truth:
sometimes,
it doesn't matter how long you've been waiting,
how much you do for him,
or how much you love him,
he just doesn't love you back.