Before the train of thought leaves me:
Like a mantra, I want to repeat to myself that if he were to ever come back, I’d that I could never take him back.
Like a mantra, “you like it when I let you walk over me.” Though you were only physically violent with me twice, that first time should have been enough to walk out, but I loved you so fucking much. I thought I had to accept you, your unacceptable behaviors, and forgive you to show you that I loved you. I could have just let you go, but I was afraid of what my life could look like without you, although you were so close to graduating anyways.
Like a mantra, I keep listening to “Your Love is Killing Me” because though I did not necessarily get physically hurt or tortured by you, the song pulls at this very intimate string of pain and the disappointment I find when I think of you.
I don’t want to be onto you from a distance.
I don’t want to see you again by my own means, like planning a meet-up after years of silence.
I’ll let the chips fall as they may regarding you.
If you feel regret at losing me, so be it.
If you don’t feel regret, so be it.
I just don’t want the slightest bit of hope to be existent in my life for you.
“He steals love so he can feel alive. Everyone’s knees knockin’ at the fear of love, taste blood. Everyone needs to feel.”
You stole so much of my love so you could feel alive and find a place in this small world, but I am so much stronger than you’ll ever be that that almost makes me feel pity towards you, though believe me, not in a condescending way.
I’m done having this unconditional compassion towards you, when you probably don’t deserve it until you can prove that same thing to yourself.
I soaked up all of you–the good, the bad, but mostly the bad. I feel like I was this outlet for you, but not a healthy one and I need to remember that.
It does no good having this compassion for a stranger that I never loved. I loved the person I met and the potential he saw in himself, not the person he let himself become through his fears and external influences. Because through that process, he became this unrecognizable persona whose so called “love” was killing me.
I don’t necessarily grieve you–you were already so far removed from my life for so long that if it hadn’t been for that, it might have been harder for me. Plus, it feels like towards the end, you were already trying to remove yourself from my life without wanting me to notice.
I want to remember all of this whenever I get emotional about you–unless you ever prove yourself different, I will never want anything more to do with you because it was and can still be painful.
Part of me continuously ponders on who will this next man be. I just think and hope that there’s got to be someone better out there for me. Someone who will treat me equally, protectively, and affectionately. A man who knows his flaws and doesn’t hide them; A kind, loving soul who knows how to respect himself and others.
Not a boy afraid of change–always afraid–and so easy to drown out his sorrows in alcohol so that he does not remember the hurtful things he does and says. All of which he can never take back.