‘Adult’ life has changed my bedtime from 2 AM to 11 PM — meaning it’s already past my bedtime assuming I plan to get the usual five hours of sleep. The thing is,… Continue reading
I have conceded that I am yet to find inspiration because at the moment, I am not hurting. I am not confused. I am okay. Stable. At equilibrium. At the steady state.
It isn’t being negative per se. It’s being resigned to everything. It’s no longer feeling. It’s not knowing. It’s the lack of grieving.
For all that it’s worth, I hope you never forget. I hope you never stop questioning. I hope you never settle.
I want to have time for you but we both know how impossible that is. — Me to writing. — Me to you.
I would only be at peace if I know you are extremely happy — the type that you can’t compare to ours. Why? Because I’m not the bitter person to be angry or jealous of some new girl when I know she’s the one meant for you.
I don’t really care if she loves you less, I just hope she loves you right.
Thing is, no matter how many times I write about this, it’s not going to wear off. I know for a fact that I’ve been denying and resisting what happened in the past. Gravity tells me to just reconnect but I won’t. It’s futile to fight gravity, I know that. I also know that if I would be stupid and just follow my guts and not even think about it for a brief moment, I would have responded to your stupid messages. The only reason I won’t is because I’m saving myself. How frustrating is it to know you can love someone but not let yourself do so because you know it’s not going to work?
You are the last strokes I make before I dip my brush to a new paint, the last words before a new page, the last chords that closes my song.