*cue up "Don't You Remember" by Adele*
Well here it is then. The entry that I knew was coming. I've no idea if this is a safe place to write about this... but here goes. My head is in bits, still. I need to try and get this heaviness off my chest.
There was a girl once. She was an immature, silly girl. But she loved a man with all her heart. He came into her life like a bleach blonde whirlwind and turned her life upside down.
Things went wrong and she fucked it up. Not in the way he thinks. He thinks she cheated on him with someone that she had never met. It was a vicious, violent end. Love that ended like the most savage of murders.
At least three years have passed and she still can't get him off of her mind. She's seen him a few times. It's always been ok but she's had to resist the urge to pull him to her and search for the lips that never forgot. But she couldn't do that. Certainly not now. He's met someone else and there's no way he'd want this girl.
The girl still has dreams about him every month or so and they're always arduous dreams. She wakes up having dreamt that he tells her how amazing his new girlfriend is, or she dreams she's sitting in bed with him just talking. Sometimes she dreams they're in the same house as each other but they can't find each other.
Sometimes his works van drives past her. Or she'll be standing waiting to cross the road and he'll pass in the car. She lives in fear when she goes to the supermarket or down the street. Just in case she sees him with his new love. Yet at the same time she wants to see him through morbid curiosity.
This man has become such a part of her that she feels she's almost become him in ways. They shared a lot of traits when they were together... sometimes they could read each other's thoughts... and sometimes she sits at night and looks at her home and knows how wonderfully complete it would be if he was there.
She's tried to move on. God only knows she's tried. She's went through a long period of partying to try and forget him. She's met a couple of nice guys but nothing has ever happened. It's like guys can tell there's still someone else in her heart. And in some ways to replace him would be to let go. Part of her wants to let go because she knows deep down he's not coming back but other parts of her still weep on cold nights when the smell of autumn is in the air.
When does the grieving stop? When does this broken girl learn to love again? What has to happen before she can say goodbye?
The pain she carries is a private pain. It sits on her chest and prevents fresh air from being inhaled. The same stale heartbreak swirls around in her soul.
She got scared a couple of weeks ago. Someone posted a poem on a website she still goes on... one they used to declare love on through the most beautiful poetry. She thought it was him. She understands now that it was wishful thinking... and that perhaps the march of time has left her deluded. Wishing for something that no longer exists in this time. What makes it bittersweet is the fact that the poem, although nothing to do with romance, left her identifying with the loneliness felt by the subject of the poem.
She is her own jailer, her own prisoner. She yearns to break free of the shackles of this obsessive feeling. But she can't seem to let it go no matter how she tries. Her heart is held together with sticking plaster and string.
Once upon a time she would cling to him in the night. Or he would hold onto the back of her tshirt like a child holding a balloon... so that she didn't drift away and get lost forever... now the only things anchoring her to the ground are thoughts of what once was. Of what she lost. Of the unobtainable forever love.
She gets drunk on cheap wine and tries to paint the feelings out of her heart and onto canvas. Sometimes she writes poetry about him. She doesn't live life. She goes out with her camera and takes pictures of everyone else living life and tries to make it look beautiful for them. When she's alone her pictures are always black and white. Drizzly, rainy pictures that people don't see. She feels like they might be quite beautiful but this is her pain. Her dirty secret. The outside world can never know. They think she's mad. Tell her to move on.
But how can she move on from something that she never quite had?
She misses the billy nights, the cuddles in the kitchen, the spontaneity, the sex, the way he fiddled with his hands when he was nervous or over-stimulated. She misses the poetry that he wrote, the music that he gifted her, the soft tones of his voice, the way that he would call her by her full name. She misses the way that he loved how she smelled, the sharing of a sense of humour, the way he loves his daughter so much it makes him cry, the way he giggled. She misses the noises he made when he was sleeping, the way he liked her to rub his hands to make him sleepy, the ridiculously precise amount of sugar he took in his tea.
But nobody can ever know any of this. They would think that she was crazy. They would think that she needed to move on. They would think she was mad in her head.
So this continues to be her secret. If you were to see this girl walking down the street you'd see a slightly alternative looking girl with charity shop clothes wearing boots that are just a bit too big for her. She'd be staring up at the sky or down at her feet. You'll never see her looking forward because looking forward means to forget.
And she's not sure that she can, just yet.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Nobody needs to read this but I had to get it out of my head.
Well here it is then. The entry that I knew was coming. I've no idea if this is a safe place to write about this... but here goes. My head is in bits, still. I need to try and get this heaviness off my chest.
There was a girl once. She was an immature, silly girl. But she loved a man with all her heart. He came into her life like a bleach blonde whirlwind and turned her life upside down.
Things went wrong and she fucked it up. Not in the way he thinks. He thinks she cheated on him with someone that she had never met. It was a vicious, violent end. Love that ended like the most savage of murders.
At least three years have passed and she still can't get him off of her mind. She's seen him a few times. It's always been ok but she's had to resist the urge to pull him to her and search for the lips that never forgot. But she couldn't do that. Certainly not now. He's met someone else and there's no way he'd want this girl.
The girl still has dreams about him every month or so and they're always arduous dreams. She wakes up having dreamt that he tells her how amazing his new girlfriend is, or she dreams she's sitting in bed with him just talking. Sometimes she dreams they're in the same house as each other but they can't find each other.
Sometimes his works van drives past her. Or she'll be standing waiting to cross the road and he'll pass in the car. She lives in fear when she goes to the supermarket or down the street. Just in case she sees him with his new love. Yet at the same time she wants to see him through morbid curiosity.
This man has become such a part of her that she feels she's almost become him in ways. They shared a lot of traits when they were together... sometimes they could read each other's thoughts... and sometimes she sits at night and looks at her home and knows how wonderfully complete it would be if he was there.
She's tried to move on. God only knows she's tried. She's went through a long period of partying to try and forget him. She's met a couple of nice guys but nothing has ever happened. It's like guys can tell there's still someone else in her heart. And in some ways to replace him would be to let go. Part of her wants to let go because she knows deep down he's not coming back but other parts of her still weep on cold nights when the smell of autumn is in the air.
When does the grieving stop? When does this broken girl learn to love again? What has to happen before she can say goodbye?
The pain she carries is a private pain. It sits on her chest and prevents fresh air from being inhaled. The same stale heartbreak swirls around in her soul.
She got scared a couple of weeks ago. Someone posted a poem on a website she still goes on... one they used to declare love on through the most beautiful poetry. She thought it was him. She understands now that it was wishful thinking... and that perhaps the march of time has left her deluded. Wishing for something that no longer exists in this time. What makes it bittersweet is the fact that the poem, although nothing to do with romance, left her identifying with the loneliness felt by the subject of the poem.
She is her own jailer, her own prisoner. She yearns to break free of the shackles of this obsessive feeling. But she can't seem to let it go no matter how she tries. Her heart is held together with sticking plaster and string.
Once upon a time she would cling to him in the night. Or he would hold onto the back of her tshirt like a child holding a balloon... so that she didn't drift away and get lost forever... now the only things anchoring her to the ground are thoughts of what once was. Of what she lost. Of the unobtainable forever love.
She gets drunk on cheap wine and tries to paint the feelings out of her heart and onto canvas. Sometimes she writes poetry about him. She doesn't live life. She goes out with her camera and takes pictures of everyone else living life and tries to make it look beautiful for them. When she's alone her pictures are always black and white. Drizzly, rainy pictures that people don't see. She feels like they might be quite beautiful but this is her pain. Her dirty secret. The outside world can never know. They think she's mad. Tell her to move on.
But how can she move on from something that she never quite had?
She misses the billy nights, the cuddles in the kitchen, the spontaneity, the sex, the way he fiddled with his hands when he was nervous or over-stimulated. She misses the poetry that he wrote, the music that he gifted her, the soft tones of his voice, the way that he would call her by her full name. She misses the way that he loved how she smelled, the sharing of a sense of humour, the way he loves his daughter so much it makes him cry, the way he giggled. She misses the noises he made when he was sleeping, the way he liked her to rub his hands to make him sleepy, the ridiculously precise amount of sugar he took in his tea.
But nobody can ever know any of this. They would think that she was crazy. They would think that she needed to move on. They would think she was mad in her head.
So this continues to be her secret. If you were to see this girl walking down the street you'd see a slightly alternative looking girl with charity shop clothes wearing boots that are just a bit too big for her. She'd be staring up at the sky or down at her feet. You'll never see her looking forward because looking forward means to forget.
And she's not sure that she can, just yet.
I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Nobody needs to read this but I had to get it out of my head.
