you loved the look of rain droplets on car windows.
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— hey, how are you? i hope you're having a good day. i hope you're having a good life. no matter how much this hurts, i still want you to be happy. and i hope that you want the same, well, i know you want the same for me. that's the reason you let me go, right? you said i deserved better, yeah? screw better. i just want you.
i know you can't read this. i know you don't know any of the thoughts in my mind, buzzing endlessly like bees. it stings, you know? the messed up part of this all is that it hurts to see you happy. it hurts to see your smile and hear your laugh, especially when it isn't caused by me. that's the thing: i want you to be happy but, god, it hurts. it hurts because i'm not happy. not right now, at least. and it hurts the most because i am not your happy.
i wish i was.
i have so many questions for you.
i wish i knew what was going on in your mind. are there bees up there, too? are they going crazy? they're driving me to insanity. speaking of which, didn't you say that i was the one thing that was keeping you from going insane? i remember you told me that. right after i gave you some advice. i wrote that long paragraph in my notes; it's still in there. in fact, memories of you are stuffed in there, yet to be deleted.
i still have the 101 things / reasons why i love you. i don't think i can delete it. not right now. i wonder what you did with that journal. did you throw it away? with all the other notes? there's a part of me that wishes you didn't. i decided to keep mine. i'm keeping the journal you gave me to ask me out. i'm keeping the notes you've given me. i actually have one in my backpack pouch, because i am too lazy to take it out. i was then, i am now. then, there's another part of me that knows you can do whatever you want. they're your notes now. it's your journal now– (actually, we said it was our journal. but that doesn't matter anymore.)
i didn't realize how much i have to say about you. once i started, the words spill effortlessly, falling like feathers from the sky. you know, i felt like i was falling. i fell in love with you. i fell into your arms because that was my safe haven. but i also fell into the cracks of my ribs and punctured my lungs. i couldn't breathe, you know.
do you remember the poems? you must. there's no doubt that they are somewhere in your memory, lingering, like the thought of you in my mind. does my silhouette sulk in the shadows in the corners of your heart? once again, so many questions.
i'm glad i never told you about my poetry account. if i did, i think it would hurt me too much. the heartbreak poems litter my feed like tissues litter the ground. you'd read them and really realize the damage you've done.
you know, i really am conflicted. there's a part of me that wants you to really feel the pain that i carry. but when she told me that you cried... i never want to think about that. the thought of you hurt hurts me more than you may know. it plucks my heartstrings like a harp, but the melody ("my melody") is melancholic.
i swear to god, you are everywhere and in everything. in my metaphors. in my words. you are in me, and not in the sexual way. i know if i said that when we were still together, we'd have a competition on who could say, "that's what she said!" fast enough. i don't know who would win, though. i don't know anything, yet, i know a lot at the same time. funny how feelings work. like your feelings: you love me, yet, you don't. paradoxes are a mess and so am i. so are we.
i have to stop talking now, for now. if i keep writing, i won't stop. it's good, though. at least i'm getting it, you, out of my system.
