...and I need for it to leave me alone.
It's not like I can take a pill or drink some cherry flavored syrup or have a needle jammed into a vein and my body filled with some type of healing serum.
The only thing that can cure it, unfortunately, is time. And sadly, I feel I may be running out of that.
The worst feeling I thought that I ever felt kicked my ass 10 years ago. Easily, I'd swap that pain for the sorry fucking pain I've got now.
I should have...I could have...I would have...none of that means dick now. It's over. An ice cube in hell has got a better shot than what I got. And at the same time I realize this, that same ice cube has got the same shot in hell as I do with getting over this.
Just to hear her say, "I love you Bear" one more time...to hold her tight against my body protecting her from the dragons that dance through my room...to see those long lashes colored black...those mahogany eyes staring at me...her perfect, well, her perfect everything...how did I let myself fuck it all up?
You can say to let her go and to get over her all you want, but you'll never know a thing about how I really feel. There is no way, no matter how good of a writer I pretend to be, that I could ever portray my love for her on this screen or a sheet of paper or lying on a couch talking to a shrink.
She's the only person in the world who knows how I feel. But what she doesn't know, or refuses to understand, is that I would wait as long as she wanted me to for her to come back home.
And I know she wont ever come back home. But I keep crossing my fingers, and praying, and making wishes at certain times of the day that she would.
Why, at 32-years old, do I have this fucking love like I'm 18 again? Why do I think that she is the only person on the planet that I will ever want to be with? Why is she the only one that I want to be with? Why can I let her have my heart, if she doesn't want the fucking thing?
I hated when she told me she was just a kid the last time we spoke on the phone. I hope she really doesn't think that about herself. She was one of, if not the strongest woman I've ever known. And I don't mean physically.
I've moved on, Waterbed. But it wasn't a fucking easy thing to do. Sorry I wasn't as strong as you were. Even though you're gone, and I know you don't want to be here with me, I had to stop lying to myself and pretending that I was over you. It took some time, but I got there.
The last time this kinda thing happened, I was 22. About 6 months after it happened that time, I had my wreck. To this day, I still swear that the wreck was what got me over that one. Glad I didn't have to die again to get over you.
But maybe that's what you wanted.
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