Dear god, I’m rotting quite inexplicably. My mind… my body… my soul.
My heart.
There is not a single decent guy in this world.
I’ve included you in my little private circle. Unknown to you.
Peek into my life, my uncensored, rotting life. My rollercoaster state.
I can never get over you.
I am sorry. I am still trying.
But it’s useless.
I think romance is a heinous creation, brimming with the most lustful whims of mankind’s darkest blood.
But, it’s what we need to exist. Beyond all reason, all rationale, it is a disease. A disease of insanity and utter, brilliant magic.
And I’m not hopeless, per say. More doomed to fail every time because I would get the best guy around town, but of course… I don’t know how to hold on. I simply refuse to hold on and make it work. I screw it up on purpose.
Where were you when I was forgetting you? Why didn’t you bring yourself back?
Pushing every inch you out of my life was and still is the most difficult fucking thing I’ve had to face. Every fucking piece of you.
I desperately search for a replacement, and every time it almost happens, fate pulls the potential away as quickly as you embedded yourself into my heart’s vocabulary.
What is it with fate testing you and your endurance with these hapless meanings?
The only way I am going to get over you is to find a replacement, temporary or long-term, who will convince me that you will never be worth my time or energy.
Do you think about me at all?
Did I ever cross your thoughts when your life was tested beyond all reason?
Am I ever going to see you again?
How much I adore you beneath all the bullshit I throw.
How much I adore you after the eye of the hurricane and among its wake.
My heart’s tribulations in homage to you and your promiscuity.
How you left me to crumble and never once looked over your shoulder.
How quickly I pushed you away.
It almost happened… I practically threw you out of my life. He was the perfect distraction, the way these things just slip through your fingers like jello. I was happy because for once you were not on my mind.
But he moved. And I failed to seize that one opportunity to introduce myself. To flaunt graciously my single status. Forget about my aching heart.
But I never did. Because I’m always so lost in these times.
And he left. So quickly. Picked up and stuffed his suitcase and piled his car and fled. He fled so quickly.
And here you are again. In my heart. Again. Again. Growing.
Tonight was the night I realized that I will never get over you. No matter how far away you are, no matter how wonderful you and she look together, no matter how much you blot me out of your life. I simply cannot get over you. I try. I try so hard.
I pull teeth. I tear out my hair.
I cry blood. I dismember my very dignity and self-being.
And here I am, empty, eternally fading burns on me, nothing left. Nothing. Splitting in halves. Into nothing.
I have nothing.
For you.
For us.
And you’re there.
Growing, growing, gone, growing still. Still gone.
I’m sorry I can’t let go of you.
I promise to be a better daughter. I’m sorry for the resentment pent up in me. I promise this unhappiness and rage you harbor will not kill you because I won’t let it kill you.
I love you despite your fire, your sharp words.
Your number is no longer in my phone. When you called at 3am I hardly recognized your number, but I answered anyways; your voice overtook me. You didn’t catch my shock. You were all business, but you still reassured me about where you were going. I miss that. I thought you had lost it. Yet, you stilled whispered to me and confided in me, though not explicitly because that would render you mortal.
Just when I had relinquished you, you jumped back in. This is a challenge for me not to let this angst grow and bloom into something even more dangerous.
And to you I bid farewell. Why am I still on my knees for your approval?
After last weekend, I should legally change my middle name to “shitshow”. Friday night, I was a steady drunk beginning at 8pm; around 11pm, I added acid to the mix. Yes, LSD. First time.
I ran around town on acid, ended up in a sketchy apartment with 3 Swiss assholes and 1 Algerian asshole. A floormate picked us up. A car legitimately thought he was a pimp. Went to bed at 7am.
Woke up at 11am, Saturday. Started drinking again. Sobered up just in time to drink more.
Did my first kegstand and beat all the boys. Also, puked my guts out at 3 different locations that night (but, I held my own because no one helped me - not that I needed anyone else’s help).
Needless to say, my weekday kicked my ass.
Love,
your seemingly pure daughter
P.S. It was worth it.
