I read my past posts and back then I thought I would get better overtime.
I’m writing this exhausted, beaten down by the world. The same world strips me naked and eventually I don’t even have my own skin to hide behind in.
I want to give up but my stubborn self keeps pushing to go forward, uncaring if what will end up there is only a piece of me that survived the journey.
I see everything with a darkened view, I hear everything filtered through possibly the devil’s mouth and feel everything too cold and too hot.
There was a time when I thought I was in love.
That was the first and last time I felt that way.
Sneaking out of someone else’s home during a sleepover to sit on top of the monkey bars in the local park with him, gazing up at the starless dark sky and talking about anything else but the obvious feelings between us.
We both knew that we were good for each other since then but it’s too bad that we only got the courage to admit our feelings years later when the timing was anything but ideal.
I used to think, during our fights after we broke up, what if we confessed during that time in the park, during our video chat sessions, our hushed phone calls, during the time we were able to stand each other, able to look at each other without anger and resentment.
I wonder when, not only our relationship as a couple, but our relationship as friends fell apart.
I couldn’t imagine life without your friendship back then, I would have never been able to imagine that it would turn into this. I still can’t fathom how it did turn into this.
Turn into drunken calls past midnight, flirting with each other, cheating on whoever we were with at the time, the flirting turning into screams and broken accusations and frustration a couple of minutes in.
We tried to fix us, it was just impossible for two completely broken and fucked up people to fix something together.