my first everything.
People (or maybe just me) don’t self harm in the hopes that it would somehow kill them. It's an outlet. The way the blood escapes, feels like the emotional burden is let out from the insides which were trapped since the last century even though I'm only sixteen—I don't know anything.
Loving him was the easiest thing I had done. It came naturally to me—like breathing. The way he described the things that hurt him broke my heart. He had the most beautiful soul, fortresses so high, cages deep, armor that he deemed as unbreakable—yet he let me in, if only for a brief instance; his heart became my secret garden, the place I would escape into when the world got too loud.
He made me feel like I was lovable. The way he used to wait out for me each day, the way he caressed my silly injury—the power his soft touch had on me was greater than any medical miracle. The way he was so gentle with my fragile, glass-like heart—bewildering me with the kindness I had witnessed for the first time.
Grabbing my hand and leading me through the crowd, tucking my hair as the wednesday air blew them out, holding my preppy bag and carrying it with pride, making sure I was okay after our unholy incidents tucked behind elevator doors and cinema halls—the all of it, it haunts me to this day. The way the twilight made his brown skin glow, and the way my love grew for him each moment I spent with him—a romance story broken by fate.
The nights I missed him were the heaviest. The crying and sulking under the covers and bathroom floors; the screaming of breakup songs on the open floors of my rooftop home, the moonlight dancing in the tears of my eyes. The mornings where I had to drag myself out of the bed and force myself to put up with the day, where every minute reminded me of what we almost were. I slap on makeup in efforts to hide my true, broken self under the endless layers of foundation.
I try to drink through the pain, the alcohol flowing through me eases up the ache—only temporarily. I stared at the reflection in the mirror, I saw a broken, drunk girl. I couldn’t help but shame the reflection which stared back—what a mess she was. Miserable and tired, wondering why they always left. Wondering what she lacked in herself. She gulps down a third shot and buries the thoughts and makes out with the second guy at the bar—hoping that maybe just for a moment she would forget about him.
But as Chappell Roan once said “you could kiss a hundred boys in bars, and give a shot to try to stop the feeling, but you’d have to stop the world to stop the feeling” that line hit me to the core.
On days I would feel at top of the world, on the others I fell to my knees, trying to reason out with God for how long my brain would mock me with the romance novel kind of love I had with him. My thumb inches away from calling him in the middle of the night, to tell him how much I had missed him. I now have a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to him. The “what ifs” forever lingering in the back of my head. I try to pick myself up, only to realize a few of my pieces went missing. He took them with himself, a part of me. We are after all parts of the people we have loved before—a mosaic of the leftover pieces of our loved ones.
I don't regret loving him one bit. He’s the most beautiful thing that happened to me, I never knew I could feel this much, never knew I could love this much. My first everything.
Quoting of chappel roan was required 100 percent!ðŸ˜
ReplyDelete"we are after all the parts of people we have loved" hit me like a brick ðŸ˜
ReplyDeleteI wonder who the madlad was who caused this heartbreak. I remember a segment from a video from Exurb1a. You should watch the video, but here it is:
ReplyDelete"We must be the only creatures allergic to happiness."
"We ruled the galaxy, a long time ago, and still quibbled over who got more ice cream for dessert.
Still wanted to pretend we didn't come from the mud,
Still couldn't accept that meaning and solace aren't to be found in the heavens,
But in the trenches of everyday living.
"We'll know everything, and then, we'll be okay.
We'll kill everything, and then, we'll be okay.
We'll forget everything, and then, we'll be okay.
We'll live forever, and then, we'll be okay.
We'll cling to everyone, and then, we'll be okay.
And even then, we weren't okay.
Because that's not how the game works."
And are we not all behaving similarly, clinging on without letting go in some vain hope of salvation, specifically from something that wants to go? You cannot ask someone to keep loving you, nor can you live for long without it, so here we are, condemned to live by a cruel and sadistic God, and I sometimes feel like sneeking a Glock into heaven to shoot the asshole in the face, magdump 20 rounds of 9mm. But let me tell you something, never cease to love, it is our greatest defiance to the meaninglessness of the universe, and is woven in the fabric of our humanness. Because, another quote from the same guy:
“I fear that on my last day, on my deathbed, that is when the meaning of things will enter the room and kiss my forehead and whisper into my ear what it was I should have done with my life, and how I should've conducted myself. Hell isn't a fire pit but a museum of regrets.”
the person who wrote this, let's have a chat lmao. i really liked this.
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