Ma lune, vous serez mon soleil?
I got to observe myself how when I’m emotionally stable, I tend not to write. I found out that I write because there are these emotions repressed that I wanted to get out of my system. And here I am, after more than a month, doing that again — trying to find healing from writing.
I can’t remember anymore when was the last time I felt this. Being extremely sad one moment, grieving at something, and then stopping, finding some light, then on again with the darkness. And then eventually, I’d feel incomplete. Or maybe even empty.
I’ve spent so much time on my relationship and as cliche as it may sound, I did lose myself. I lost it slowly, not realizing what was slipping away. I didn’t realize because I dwelt too much on my relationship, I ignored the world. I spent so much time with the moon that made darkness bearable. I spent so much time that I only saw that dim light. Each flicker scared me so much. I realize I forgot that my own eyes adjust to darkness. That eventually, I can manage.
I lost myself and never had the intention to bring it back, to find it, or to even realize what exactly did I lose. Who was I before all the chaos? Who was I again?
I’ve been too tolerant chasing the moon. I’ve been too comfortable with the light despite the absence of warmth. You were my moon but sadly, not my Sun.
I realized how difficult things are now. Having cried for how many hours, I realized how much I’ve grown accustomed to your presence. I realized how I couldn’t last a single day without you. I realized how painful it was to lose someone you still love. I realized how painful it still is. I realized that no words can fully express the pain I went through. And that no words can make you feel even just a bit of what I felt. Because you were numb. Because you were the moon. Because you were too far. Too busy lighting up every other people’s paths too.
The storm has passed but I’m pretty sure it’ll still rain. I used to think you have to always fight for that one thing or person you love. Today, I realized, you can’t fight for someone who decided not to be yours. You can’t be with someone who badly wants to be free. I can’t keep the moon for myself, as much as I want. And I probably shouldn’t have fallen in love with it knowing that when new moon comes, it’s difficult to reach. I should have remembered that the moon isn’t always at its fullest. And I should have stopped following the moon and waited for the Sun to rise instead.
How am I supposed to feel? Angry? Sad? Depressed? For how long?
I gave up on trying to dictate what I should feel and how I should feel. Today, I decided to stop running after the moon. Today, I decided to wait for the Sun because the Sun doesn’t move around. It needs not chasing after.
Seeing that green dot beside your name still elicits feelings. Heart races, chest feels a ton heavier, and my fingers itch to type — to blurt out all the hurting that at least, maybe, just maybe, you’ll realize what you’re doing.
But I won’t.
I’m done with all the other stories. If you want to leave, leave. If I learned anything today, it is that I can only do as much. If you want to leave, if our relationship is becoming a burden, if you realized this isn’t what you want, then so be it. I’m done fighting for something that can’t be fought. I concede. I concede that maybe we’re bound to nothing. That after a year and five months, we’re bound to nothing. That maybe after all those plans and talks and what have you, they were all empty and meaningless. I concede that there’s this great chance everything goes to nothing. That maybe the bridge stops there and there’s nothing else to walk on to. That maybe I might just need to choose a different path. I concede to the fact that it will hurt. I concede.
I can write you a novel but what use will it be for someone who wouldn’t read? So instead, I’ll sit here, watch that beautiful moon fade away, and hope that tomorrow, the Sun rises. I’ll watch the moon I used to call mine light someone else’s path. I’d sit here, do what I have to, and learn to surpass the “inevitable sad weeks”. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll get that Sun next time.