“I used to think that one day, I’d tell the story of us-”
This is going to kill me, but it’s the only way this can be done.
I jumped off the cliff, I let myself dream on and on, forgot about my waxed wings and flew too close to the sun.
Now, I must bear the fall.
I don’t know what’s got into me, a part of me is still yelling in here, screaming on and on about what a bad idea this is, about how if I ever loved you, I’ll never let you go.
But that’s the thing, you have to finally. Nothing is yours to keep. Nothing.
And especially not you.
Because 10-5 space 16-5-14-19-5 space 17-21-5 space 10-5 space 20-1-9-13-5.
Only, I don’t think.
You see, my dear, there are not very many things about myself that I am sure of; I am an incredibly self-doubting human. But if there was one thing I am sure of, it’s my love for you.
Sure, I doubted it too at times, but the pain, the incredibly soul-crushing, heart-wrenching pain, it only proved how real this was to me, and so does the realization that I never thought I would use these incredibly cliched adjectives to describe immense pain, but I find myself at a loss for words to explain the feeling otherwise at the moment. Because it’s crushing my soul, and wrenching my heart and tearing me apart.
Head to toe, limb to limb, torso from body, I am being stretched, ripped, transformed into the most grotesque of shapes, all because I decided I was a grenade that kept blowing up over and over again, blowing shrapnel sharper each time, and you are one casualty that I’d like to avoid.
I really have no idea why I’m doing this, other than to free you from the noose of your least favorite flower that keeps tightening itself around your neck ever so lovingly, growing on your skin, sapping at all your energy. You need to be free of this parasite, and so I will let you be.
So I will write you a letter you will never read, but countless others will, and each will interpret my pain in their own way, and I will pepper it with a few references to songs you’ll never have heard, and books you’ll never have read, you never liked books anyways, did you, and I will spend the night in the torturous recesses of my own brain, each corner, every nook filled with you, you and only you, and in the morning, as the sun comes up to mark a new day, I will forget.
Or, rather, act like I have forgotten.
So, my darling, till dawn do us apart.