Not so long ago, I found out that I have lost you.
All it took was five words, "I don't love you anymore."
They hit the spot. So hard.
Almost seven years together.
Two beautiful boys thrust in the middle of this conflict.
You were gone in the middle of the night leaving me torn and confused.
I tried to figure out when it started. My mind was racing, how could I solve it? Trying to dig further, not leaving any stone unturned for even a small clue of when and how it happened. You didn't give me that closure immediately.
Instead, you hid behind your lies and attempted to appease my already shattered soul. Another's... He's already another's. It kept coming back. It kept haunting me. It kept lingering on. Until it consumed me.
Day and night, I thought of how you were around her. I thought of how you made her feel. I thought of how you are fond of her and not me. How you told her everything about us and how it never occurred to you that I needed to know, too. It was OUR problem after all.
Each thought permeated my being and I let it. For two months, I sat still waiting for your return. Waiting for you to tell me, you were wrong and that you're going to be back for good but it didn't happen. It's like piercing my heart over and over with the dagger you both used behind my back.
What sucks is that this chapter was not over, and this is because I am still dwelling on the last few pages. Hanging on to every single word, dotting the I's, crossing the T's, carefully rereading each line and drawing on the page, coloring dutifully. In my mind, I am yet to call it off.
But no.
The story has already unfolded. The page had to be turned and though it would be hard to leave the characters behind, there is no use in holding on.
And yet, I fiddled. I thought perhaps the author just used a semicolon and not a period. And then I found myself back in the beginning, reviewing the highlights, reading the romantic parts, and completely ignoring the struggles and conflicts.
Not sure how long I would go fueling this torture with my own brand of masochism and smearing the blood all over the walls for everyone to see. Maybe until these walls collapse. My carefully built house of cards.
Tomorrow's a new day. Another chance to be free from this mental prison, a promise of heaven with the taste of hell. But as I try to step forward, I find myself running back to the same direction I came from. Like a dog chasing its own tail, running in circles and acting the fool.
All it took was five words, "I don't love you anymore."
They hit the spot. So hard.
Almost seven years together.
Two beautiful boys thrust in the middle of this conflict.
You were gone in the middle of the night leaving me torn and confused.
I tried to figure out when it started. My mind was racing, how could I solve it? Trying to dig further, not leaving any stone unturned for even a small clue of when and how it happened. You didn't give me that closure immediately.
Instead, you hid behind your lies and attempted to appease my already shattered soul. Another's... He's already another's. It kept coming back. It kept haunting me. It kept lingering on. Until it consumed me.
Day and night, I thought of how you were around her. I thought of how you made her feel. I thought of how you are fond of her and not me. How you told her everything about us and how it never occurred to you that I needed to know, too. It was OUR problem after all.
Each thought permeated my being and I let it. For two months, I sat still waiting for your return. Waiting for you to tell me, you were wrong and that you're going to be back for good but it didn't happen. It's like piercing my heart over and over with the dagger you both used behind my back.
What sucks is that this chapter was not over, and this is because I am still dwelling on the last few pages. Hanging on to every single word, dotting the I's, crossing the T's, carefully rereading each line and drawing on the page, coloring dutifully. In my mind, I am yet to call it off.
But no.
The story has already unfolded. The page had to be turned and though it would be hard to leave the characters behind, there is no use in holding on.
And yet, I fiddled. I thought perhaps the author just used a semicolon and not a period. And then I found myself back in the beginning, reviewing the highlights, reading the romantic parts, and completely ignoring the struggles and conflicts.
Not sure how long I would go fueling this torture with my own brand of masochism and smearing the blood all over the walls for everyone to see. Maybe until these walls collapse. My carefully built house of cards.
Tomorrow's a new day. Another chance to be free from this mental prison, a promise of heaven with the taste of hell. But as I try to step forward, I find myself running back to the same direction I came from. Like a dog chasing its own tail, running in circles and acting the fool.
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