July 6, 3:52 AM
It is nearly 4 am on a Saturday night/Sunday morning and my heart feels like it has just been split into two, again. It’s quite reminiscient of the way it cracked that afternoon you suddenly ended our relationship over the phone since you claimed to have neither the time or commitment for a long-distance relationship. And here I am, over half a year older (and supposedly wiser, though I feel rather stupid right now) sitting on a different bed a few hundred miles away crying over the same thing: you, us, what-ifs, and the what-should-have-beens. And in my mind, a movie reel won’t stop replaying the perfect two months we spent together, your recent confession of immediately regretting the breakup as soon as it was over, and our mutual confessions of the remnants of our feelings for one another: licklings of flame that could burst into a brilliant fire at any given second, if only we feed the spark.
And I am crying, six months later and six months older, because I felt as if I’ve lost you again. And I’m so angry at your immaturity, lack of communication, and the fact that you never seem to have any trouble prioritizing everything but me—and I am so angry at myself for caring. Because the past few weeks have been nothing but hurt, betrayal, and disappointment, felt solely on my part, and I can already feel the weak campfire inside me flickering under the heavy gusts of wind you’ve sent my way. Soon, I will be nothing but an empty bonfire of blackened gravel, ebony char streaks and burnt wood chips. Something once so beautiful, now reduced to whispers of a past.
I have no more fight left in this brittle, bitter body. I give u—