Foreword: Pieces inspired by Wellington that date from November 2016 to February 2017.
I can’t help myself from thinking of you at times. I can’t help the insanity my heart and mind feel. The hurt I feel. the irresistible urge for affirmation that there was something there at one time.
There’s a lost feeling. A feeling of utter loneliness embracing a sorrow of unfair measure.
I love you. It’s okay if you want to keep me a secret. I still love you. I’m happy just being with you for those rare nights that you’ll have me.
I love you. It hurts when I’m with you. I still love you.
By all logic, I shouldn’t love you, yet I love you.
I want to message him. I can’t though. It’s gonna be hard getting over him. It’s gonna be hard.
A Letter to Wellington
I wish I had stopped sooner. I wish we hadn’t met. I wish you had been brave enough to have ended it from the beginning. I wish I had listened to you.
You’ll fade away.
I came across his photo. I couldn’t help but look away in dis-amazement. He looked stoned. He looked clueless. He looked sad. How I ever found him attractive, I don’t know.
How did I find him attractive? I’m still dumbfounded and laughing at myself.
Why did I change so much for him? Why did I care about how he saw me? How he thought of me? Why did I care? He was never worth it.
I saw a couple at work. They gave me a glimpse of what it may have been like with him. They looked awkward. They didn’t look happy.
If we ever meet again, I won’t let him near me.
I don’t think I’d be able to handle seeing him again. It was okay seeing his photo but seeing him in person would be completely different. I can imagine all these scenarios and how I would react but none of them are true to life.
I would freeze up, my heart audibly pounding against my chest, as a mess of emotions spill across my mind. Anger. Depression. Curiosity. I wouldn’t know what to say. I wouldn’t know what to do. I would run. I would run like I always do.
Each time I see him he looks different.
I started things up with him again. Like a moth to a flame, I can’t resist.
He took me back.
Neither of us trust each other, the wounds are too deep, yet we continue letting each other pour acid into our healing hearts.
We only meet at night. A nighttime nightmare.
It hurt at first but doesn’t anymore. I’ve reached his level. I keep him at arms length. I don’t let him in.
Yet, an undeniable attraction still exists.
I don’t know what to make of him. He’s an enigma that I’m slowly solving.
When I think it’s time to give up, he ignites a new hope. A spark that compels me to continue. A spark that fans the flame between us.
We were friends with a kiss at the end last night. We talked about the stars, music, and other frivolously deep topics. He made the conversation. He was opening up, giving me clues into who he was.
I was giddy from the herbs. I was intoxicated from the happiness of finally having clues towards unraveling the enigma of Wellington. It was a wonderful night.
I’m not sure we’ll ever be together, but I am sure that I’m content for the time being.
I Still Look
Sometimes when it rains. Sometimes when I’m smoking. Sometimes when I’m alone. I think of you. I’ll look at old messages.
Staring at your icon, a part of me wondering if you ever do the same. A part of me dreaming that you’ll message me.
It’s hard to move on. It’s hard to move on from something that defined you so much.
It’s a feeling of indifferent bitterness and of calm sweetness.
What happened, happened. We had something, but never had anything.
Thank you for the rollercoaster. The highs and lows.
I’ll always remeber you. I won’t remember your face, voice, or touch. I’ll just remember the bittersweet memories of how you made me feel. Memories of a love that broke my heart.
I’ll only remember the yearning and excitement. The longing and disappointment.
February 12, 2017 11:40pm