30

I'm not actually functioning.
I don't get out of bed unless it's absolutely necessary. Even when I need to, it can hardly be described as a success.
I mean, come on, an hour ago I found it in me to go out grab some food; I did not even have the courage to get dressed properly.
I just put some clothes on top of my pj, for fuck's sake.

Now I have to live with the never-ceasing images and sounds of what you did, or at least what I imagine you did. I won't describe it as pleasant. Not for me, at least. It comes back, whenever I feel like I might enjoy a moment of respite, like a long needle. But not one that stings swiftly. No, the kind of needle that a bad nurse sticks in your arm, and that keeps on moving around, butchering flesh along its circular wreckage, until there is just dead meat left there to rot away. The pain is, indeed, a pain to withstand.
But if it were just for that, I might be able to cope.
The hardest part is my inability to understand. How you could fake all these times. I do fathom it was just a game for you, yet I struggle, for these moments were real for me.
I never felt more alive than during some of the times I had with you. The little box you gave me, the avalanche of texts laying out all the plans you'd made for our place, how excited you were. The day you smiled while unveiling your mug for the appartment. The time you told me that we needed to buy some grown-up sheets. The time you insisted we come and took some measurements. The time we came back home after this terrible 24 hours of non-stop fighting. All these times you put your head on my chest and told me that you couldn't live without my smell. When you told me with this frail voice of yours that you'd die if I were to ever disappear from your life. All these times you swore you'd never, ever cheat on me, without my asking.

So much for that last one, I guess.

Because yeah, the toughest part of it is not to live with your betrayal and all the lies, or even the fact that you did everything to make me miserable.
It is torturing me to look back on all these moments that made me believe, despite all you had put me through, that us was worth fighting for.

Why didn't you give me the chance to fight for us? Because you were not who you had me believe.

I will not lie. I am miserable. Nothing takes my mind off of you. The all too rare glimpses of hope and relief are balanced by the oft ill-advised instants of self-delusion during which I enjoy believing that you are still here by my side and all of this is a bad dream. How many times today did I have to fight against my urge to text you and tell you how much I love you? How many times have I resisted the impulse to call you and ask you to start over? How many times have I hoped that you would knock on my door and tell me it was all just a big misunderstanding?

I still check my mailbox everyday to see if there isn't some letter you left there when you dropped the key and that I would have missed. I know you didn't, and I know you can't, or more accurate yet won't, leave anything there anymore.

Leaving me at once was enough I guess.
Your last text told me how hurt you felt that I gave you the box back. But how am I to believe any of the notes stored in it now? They were written by someone I don't know, imitating someone I made up.

I'm conflicted, because these moments were real to me while you've never been true to us. I can't be like you and already be out there all smiles and banging around, telling the next man how he's the one, because I, for one, no matter how dysfunctional we were together, no matter the hardships,
I did believe in us
And was willing to fight for it
Why would you not let me?

So now I'm here and I've been through hope, anger, despair, delusion, and all the stages of grief way too quickly. I have not had time to take them in, and I don't feel lighter.
Because you had never been the burden to begin with,
The burden was our broken relationship

And now it will never truly disappear, because the only way there was to make it right was not to put an end to this
But to make it right.

Now there is no way back. I willingly locked myself into the aftermath when you screwed up, because I knew back then that I only had so much time of objectivity, I only had that precious window,
To thrust me out of something that would have destroyed me to the point of no return.

So sure, I can be grateful for that. Because right now I'm dying to rekindle. But you either don't give a fuck, or are waiting for just that to toy around with me a little more.


I knew what I was getting myself into with you. I don't regret it. If I were to do it again, I don't think I would pass on the opportunity. But at some point I started to believe we could turn this mess into something good.
And at that exact moment,
You got bored of your new toy and started pursuing the next one.

I will remain a number in the long list of your victims. I am not any different, you won't remember me more fondly than the last, you will certainly tell people how I was the one who was terrible in the relationship. That's who you are, and that's fair enough.

For me you will remain a little more than that.
And even if hindsight is indeed 20/20 as they say, I really, really believe that we are, and will forever remain,
Unfinished business.

There was more to us than you gave yourself the chance to see and than you gave me the chance to show you
There is more to us to write in life
But now we'll never know

And while you are gone, I'm still here.
And the appartment feels almost too empty to bear.
Because your stuff is not the only thing you dragged through the door and won't ever bring back.



You're lucky you were never born Noah. But that does not mean I won't miss you buddy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9tGoNcd4CY