The Story that Never was...

Listen to;

You're Somebody Else, Flora Cash,

When we were Young, Adele,

You were the story I never wanted to tell. The story that I would so often throw under the rug and forget. Or the story that I held so much to myself because it was the only thing that was mine. It was the only thing that ever was. Just a story. The story that if I opened the book of us and started to tell, then, it would be more than just my mouth talking. It would be my eyes tearing up and my heart wanting to say things that it should never have to say. It would be my soul pleading and begging and asking,

 "Was I that forgettable?"

What is it with love and mistakes and regrets and sins? And what is it about these things that lead me back to you over and over and over again? And even now, if you just said my name the way you say it, I would come crashing back at your door. You starve me of your love and what do they say about that kind of love? That even though you served it on a blade or sword I would lick it the F up! 

I still look for you in crowds. I still hope that I bump to you again and maybe we can start all over. I still dream about the first day. The way it was all perfect. The way you acted like you cared. But wasn't it worthwhile since I didn't know it was all an act? I miss who I used to be before I met you. Trying to find myself again is like trying to figure out what is on the other side of the sky. What is it about you and your so so cold heart. Do you even think about me? Do you reread our conversations. I happen to know them by heart now. But it doesn't matter so I put the phone away. But then again I scroll it down and refresh it and restart it and for six months you haven't checked on me yet? Oh to be a person's passing wind! Time doesn't even seem to heal whatever damage you left. This heart hopes that you will come and soothe it's wounds. This stubborn heart misses you and I cannot teach it how to stop beating for you, because it caught to the rhythm of yours. 

Why did you let me see the parts of you that you never show to anyone? Why did you tell me things that I would carry with me forever? Why did you let me care about your broken heart? Why did you let me fix you then you go ahead and break me? Why did you let me see your filth but you never once wanted to see mine? You let me melt the ice of your heart but you left me so so cold too! What happens to a heart that does not know how to find its way home? Sometimes all I want is one last time. One last hug. One last kiss. One last night next to you. One last time standing by your side. Just soaking that moment in. One last goodbye and maybe I will understand that it is the last time. Heck I don't know how to dance on my own yet all I ever do is listen to your favorite songs and hope the ghost of you likes me better than you do. 

I hate that hearts are stubborn. I hate that hearts can break. And that hearts have a language of their own. And I hate that everything I write is about you. Every song I listen to is a song I wish I would sing to you. I always heard about rock bottom but I didn't think mine would be because I loved you first. At rock bottom, I was not smoking a cigarette

At rock bottom, I was not drinking wine in the middle of the night

At rock bottom I stared at the wall and asked all the parts of me that hurt to ache

"Please ache, please feel the pain, feel it a little more."

At rock bottom I did not want to numb the pain 

I wanted to feel it all at once, everywhere

At rock bottom I learned how much I had fallen in love with my own disorder, my own chaos. While you were kissing another girl under the rain. 

And if you care to know. I still write about you. Six months and my diary begs me to stop dotting your name all over it. To stop drawing hearts around your name. To stop hoping that maybe one day we will happen again. I certainly know that I never cross your mind. I knew it from how you stared at me with cold eyes while I talked about the stars and there is nothing I'd possibly do that you would change your mind. I would never arrange my words well enough to convince you that I still want you. But those eyes, from the moment they met mine, I knew that they would haunt me forever. And why do I keep going to war, why do I keep reliving it and repeating it and saying your name when no one is listening, yet I know this is a losing battle. 

My diary entry today is especially sad;

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3/May/2024

Have you ever had a love that is bigger than you? It consumes you and feeds on you. It asks and asks and all you do is give and as it grows bigger you only get smaller and eventually it swallows you whole. It swallows you and you no longer know where you end and where this love begins. You forget parts of who you are and you slowly lose. It becomes your religion, bigger than you could have ever imagined and now you devote and devote but somehow it's the only thing you now know how to do so well. To bow to a love that consumes your soul and sets you on fire like nothing else. Even John Keatin in a love letter to Fanny Brawne says it, that, "I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion -I have shuddered at it-I shudder no more. I could be martyred for my religion-love is my religion-I could die for that- I could die for you". How do I tell him that I am capable of carrying the weight of his love? How do I tell him that when he runs out of love he can carelessly use mine? How can I tell him that I can only be safe in his hands? That he is now my Religion and he is a god that never knows I exist. Yet all I know is how to devote to him. Isn't that what faith is? A belief in the unknown? I guess the legends were all wrong about faith. Because my faith in this story that never was, will be the death of me...

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But all these. All these rumblings. All these entries. They are just words. And words will never be enough,I will say how much I love you and follow it up with because and hence and therefore and why,

Words will never bring you back,

Because words are just words,

I have written them in the sand of the Ocean,

Whispered them to the gods at night,

Asked the wind to carry them to you,

I have carved them on my skin with ink,

Arranged them and rearranged them with patterns and rhymes,

I have spoken them out loud,

And left others unsaid,

I have shouted them over a bridge,

And listened to them in lyrics of famous songs,

Words cannot come close to describing how your absence makes me feel,

Even when I put them together without order,

They still cannot catch the disorder that you caused me,

Words are just words,

They are just witnesses to my broken heart,

And they cannot come close to defining how much I wish you pay for the price as well,

And as it is,

Words are all that I have,

And silence is what I'll ever get in return.