I sit on the train, my head resting against the rain soaked window pane. I watch as a water drop slowly moves its way towards me and then I look up, wondering if anyone is watching the sad girl staring out the window. But then I remember that this is not a romance novel; no one is going to see my hunched shoulders and teary eyes and want to fix me.
Many a good man has tried. They have kissed my scars and held me as I cried, but their compliments wained and I went back to my old ways: scratching at my skin and barely holding myself together. This is not a romance novel. I have to be the one to save me in the end.
I don’t know what’s important to me anymore. I was on my feet, finally, standing tall like we’re supposed to. And then I met a boy and now I just don’t know anymore. Priorities shift and our perception of the world changes. All because of one single human. One single human who can make the choice to just stomp in and out of our life, like a tourist and I was the main attraction.
You’ll show people the souvenirs from your trip to my life for the next few weeks, but eventually they’ll slip into the back of your closet, forgotten and collecting dust. Because that’s all I really was at the end of it: a little vacation. Eventually you had to go back home to your life; too bad I felt at home for the first time in months with you.
It’s never ending; I’ve said it once and I’ll probably say it again- everybody is hurting and everyone is hurting someone.
This is something I shouldn’t admit- but sometimes when I really miss you I go back and read all of our text messages from the very beginning. It takes a long time just to scroll up and even longer to read all of them. I laugh and smile a lot, and cry even more. Sometimes it’s happy tears, reading something you said that is so sweet and sincere that it melts my heart all over again, but mostly I feel a great sense of loss.
I don’t like feeling wrong- I read those messages and still feel like we really had something good. I was wrong again I suppose. At a certain point it’s hard to keep passing the blame; I’m the common denominator in all of my failed relationships. It’s easy to say that I’m so amazing and all these guys are blind, stupid, asshole, idiots: but is that really true?
I read our messages over and over again. I cry because I can feel the loss every time. I was wrong, and this time being right actually mattered.
I wonder about the silence- about all the things we choose not to say in between. What lies there? What is being left unsaid in your commas and your abbreviations? Are there secrets there? Or is it just that: silence?
Silence has its own sound though.
I think that it’s slightly ironic- you hear a sad song and think of her, while I listen to the same song and thing of you. I guess someone is always hurting and there’s always someone else hurting them. Everything comes back around eventually.
I wonder which is worse- the silence or actually hearing what else there is to say.
With November ending it is the official beginning of the holiday season; can you feel the cheer in the air? I’m sure trying to. It seems more often than not that the idea of holiday cheer is a great deal more cheery than the reality. Cold weather, grumpy faces, and runny noses. Falalalalalala.
I think what’s most important about the holidays is being able to spend it with people we love, and I booked my flight home today. It’s funny though, all I’m really thinking about is if I will see you in the New Year. So much to look forward to and all I can think about is that you’re not a part of it. What’s worse- you don’t care that I’m not a part of your life anymore.