There's this thing I do now, which I have never done before, ever. Because I wanted to save us from scars for as long as possible. It's something silly and insignificant really, but it's big for me and I like that it helps hold you in a place in my heart, the existence of which, even I was unaware of. But I'm losing my mind without your face, and your touch, and your voice on my skin. I'm spiralling and constantly running away from myself and any possible triggers. Because I don't want to test you in any way - I'm testing my self-restraint and willpower in ways I didn't think possible. Perhaps it doesn't look like much because I still keep whining to you, constant-fucking-ly.
Imagine working for as long as you do, and then staying up late to talk to your person, and them always being miserable and demanding. I get it. Anyone would tire. Frankly a (large) part of me is waiting for you to tire - almost? But as I stay up, night after night, the oceans between us keep growing larger and keeping us further and further apart. I haven't felt your radiant smile, shine on me for so long that I think I've forgotten how to (genuinely) appreciate it across a screen, more so because I'm forgetting how to appreciate most things as time passes me by, and the reality of the virus dawns on me more and more.
Nothing seems to have any meaning anymore darling. Because nothing ever leads to you. It's an unending torture. And with the whole world literally like a sinking ship, I don't know if I will ever get to you, before I go sinking too. I'm so close to breaking my personal vow, because my resilience and perseverance is cracking. The self-doubt looms over my head, darker than before; the negative thoughts keep building up; the questions with no answers; and the feeling that I'm alone - all the effing time. I'm all alone.
I know, I know what I'm doing to me, and you, and us, and I can't seem to be able to stop. I'm so mad at myself for not being half as logical or practical or just fucking real. I want to stab the idiotic romantic fool inside me till its dead and gone - it tires me so. I want to pull my guts out so my heart can stop sinking down to them, as soon as there's a slight mention of a longer delay in seeing you.
I always knew I had my weak spots, but to have you become a weakness, so fast, and so much, is unnerving even for me. I want to just be able to face this evil monstrosity of a virus, bringing you some semblance of comfort and peace that I seem to be so adept at bring to the rest of the world.
Yet, I fail repeatedly, currently in this battle and perpetually in the emotion called love. I've probably never grown enough to get it right. I just hope that I do, but hoping and praying is not enough.
Clearly, neither is love; for all the love in my heart for you, there's still insurmountable oceans between you and me tonight.
Happy 13th, you.
Imagine working for as long as you do, and then staying up late to talk to your person, and them always being miserable and demanding. I get it. Anyone would tire. Frankly a (large) part of me is waiting for you to tire - almost? But as I stay up, night after night, the oceans between us keep growing larger and keeping us further and further apart. I haven't felt your radiant smile, shine on me for so long that I think I've forgotten how to (genuinely) appreciate it across a screen, more so because I'm forgetting how to appreciate most things as time passes me by, and the reality of the virus dawns on me more and more.
Nothing seems to have any meaning anymore darling. Because nothing ever leads to you. It's an unending torture. And with the whole world literally like a sinking ship, I don't know if I will ever get to you, before I go sinking too. I'm so close to breaking my personal vow, because my resilience and perseverance is cracking. The self-doubt looms over my head, darker than before; the negative thoughts keep building up; the questions with no answers; and the feeling that I'm alone - all the effing time. I'm all alone.
I know, I know what I'm doing to me, and you, and us, and I can't seem to be able to stop. I'm so mad at myself for not being half as logical or practical or just fucking real. I want to stab the idiotic romantic fool inside me till its dead and gone - it tires me so. I want to pull my guts out so my heart can stop sinking down to them, as soon as there's a slight mention of a longer delay in seeing you.
I always knew I had my weak spots, but to have you become a weakness, so fast, and so much, is unnerving even for me. I want to just be able to face this evil monstrosity of a virus, bringing you some semblance of comfort and peace that I seem to be so adept at bring to the rest of the world.
Yet, I fail repeatedly, currently in this battle and perpetually in the emotion called love. I've probably never grown enough to get it right. I just hope that I do, but hoping and praying is not enough.
Clearly, neither is love; for all the love in my heart for you, there's still insurmountable oceans between you and me tonight.
Happy 13th, you.
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