Isn’t that even just a little bit unfair?
But then again, it’s the price we pay, we who continue to love in silence, even after the world has torn our hearts apart.
The love that lasts the longest is that which is unrequited¸ they said.
But what about the love that you had, and lost?
What about that one beacon of hope you’d managed to find in an ocean of loneliness, that diamond in the rough, that one single thing that made you feel so alive, your eyes lit up just from thinking about it?
What about remembering, every single day, what it was like, and knowing that you’ll never have it again? That nothing will ever compare?
Isn’t that love stronger than the rest? That love that persists even as the other has walked away? The love that you embrace, even though you know that living with it will just drown you in your own misery and despair and desperation? Isn’t that the love that transcends everything else?
When you have nothing but memories to fuel you and every day is spent remembering and missing and hoping and crawling and praying, there’s nothing but faith that keeps you alive. Nothing but faith.
You’ve resigned yourself to the idea of them having complete and total control over you, and that the pain you feel from remembering them is worth it, because nothing in the world would ever make you want to forget.
Don’t leave me feeling like this. It’s all I beg of you. Don’t leave me feeling empty and hollow. I can’t go back to those days. I’ll go crazy. I’d rather die. Kill me. Don’t leave.
I can’t take it. You shouldn’t be here to see this.
“I know you know a lot of words and you like flinging them around and flaunting them but I’d shut my trap if I were you before I ended up saying something I could never take back.”
There was a violence in her he’d never seen, one that she’d exhibited only in instances of pure necessity in the fight for self-preservation, and an indifference in him that she’d never thought could exist, one that he’d practiced years to master. She finally grew stiff, and the night fell into a silence so engulfing that it suffocated them.
She didn’t trust him, and he couldn’t be content with her.
“Are you done?” He asked.
“Yes, I’m done.” She replied.
“Come back to bed.”
“I’m done. I’m through. I can’t do this anymore.”
The air around them grew thick with tension, and he watched her silently as she got dressed, put whatever possessions of hers she could fit in her bag, and left, remarking that she’d be back for the rest of her things in the morning.
There was so much suffocating tension that her tiny frame shook from the mere pressure of air escaping her lungs.
It was bad, to say the least, to catch him saying those things to those people, almost as bad, in fact, as catching him in bed with another woman.
Yet she was so afraid of the inevitable, impending demise of the relationship they shared. So completely and utterly terrified that the thoughts had found a way to sneak into the most sacred places of dreams and hopes. She’d sit for hours and try to fight through the fear that crushed her but nothing he could say could chase her tears away. “You should’ve known,” She thought, blaming him but not entirely. “Of how what you were doing would ruin and destroy me. You should’ve thought of that before you fooled around behind my back.”
Of course, there was nothing either of them could do, and she swallowed with bitter regret all the things he’d told her, and resigned herself to her loneliness, deciding once and for all that this was what she’d been made for: Solitude.
The promises he’d made, she decided, were ones of false hopes. They were lies, nothing more, nothing less, and she’d fallen for them, hook, line and sinker.
It was knowing that she’d shared him, his intricate knowledge of everything about her, his eloquence, his deepset eyes and that mole on his cheek. It was knowing that she’d become just another face in the crowd to him, just another woman to bed.
She found herself utterly amazed when she realized that sometimes, she’d be thinking of things with no relation to him—that it was possible for her to exist even for just several moments, without the thought of him lingering over her.
She took that route every day, until she was amazed to realize that she’d started recognizing everything: the cracks on the concrete of the street, the jeeps that passed her by and the people riding them. She recognized everything, and so well too.
She fell back into that niche she’d carved for herself in the months before they’d met, a niche of self-destruction and self-loathing. She’d destroy herself from the inside, corrupting her already-weak body because of her even-weaker spirit. She’d claw and bite at herself like a wild animal in the throes of a maddening disease, wasting away slowly but inevitably.
She found him indifferent to the sight of her, as though the sight of her tears and the sound of her sobs breaking into the night meant nothing. Just as well, she decided. This way, he could do nothing to stop her.
He found her beautiful in her suffering—so much more beautiful than she’d ever been when she was happy. He watched the circles under her eyes darken from losing sleep and crying and the curve of her cheeks deflate, her shoulders no longer stood holding her small frame, and the arms that held him seemed to shiver, almost nothing but bone left under the skin.
Written in separate memos on September 27th, 2012.
Originally posted on Tumblr on April 13th 2013