| Current mood: |  numb |
The words keep running through my head. It’s like this huge whirlwind of black letters; my brain trying to make sense of it all, trying to find some kind of peace in them; release.
I’ve lived with this ache, this burden, for so long now that it’s a part of me. That dull void in my chest that has held me back, been the reason I didn’t pursue relationships, I didn’t want to have to go through anything like that ever again.
Only now I am. That overwhelming feeling of losing my grip, the intense fear of letting go - of watching it all fall from away from me. Because I wasn’t good enough make it right. I wasn’t enough to keep it from going wrong in the first place.
I hoped to find some sort of solace in the words the first time I read them. To find a way to mend the piece of myself that only continues to break. But I didn’t. I only found more anger. More resentment. More reason to keep up this masochistic game I play with myself every day. Once again, I’m left to question myself. My motives. I’m left to wonder what could have possibly lead me to believe I could test the hands of fate - much less change them.
The grief is unbearable again, and it feels like all eyes are once more on me. On the one person who had a chance but didn’t make it count. Who couldn’t be good enough to be all that he needed. Who wasn’t good enough to help him make it through his struggle. It makes me feel worthless, just as I did then.
And as much as I want to believe in what he wrote, in the words that he left for me, the ones that I’m supposed to take to heart, to believe…I can’t. Because he’s not here now. He’s not here because I couldn’t keep him here. No matter how pretty those words are…they only make me feel uglier.
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