I miss you.
It hits me like waves and floods every part of me, pushing past my comfort zone. I wonder if it will stop soon enough. It comes and goes, it burns and floods, it angers and destroys.. But there it is… It comes when I least expect it, interrupting my perfect act of someone who’s perfectly moving on, erasing my smiles.. making me wish you were mine. And I go back to the start.
I wish I did not miss you. I wish the last two years were so easy to forget. But then again, I don’t. Because I don’t want our story to be a sad, harsh yesterday. We loved, we laughed, we cried, we grew, we tried, we parted.. But I still love you like yesterday, even though I chose to go my separate way. And maybe that is what is holding me back to every memory of you, and why sometimes the simplest things brings back memories of you. I walked away from someone I love, positive the wrong decision was to not do so.
I just wanted simple things. I just wanted simple love. I just wanted a relationship without all that control, such a sorrow to be in love and trapped into a prison of your own design… If only.
But sure, I miss you. I wish I did not, but I do. But I have grown strong enough to avoid the silly little fall-backs, and the tears that once came with such wave of missing you. I have grown strong enough to understand this is the best thing for ME. And, unless you ever truly change, it will forever be.
I miss you, then I remember this is what’s best, and stop.
Here I find myself, listening to ‘The Hurry and the Harm’, wishing I had started this blog as an anonymous writer. Why? you may ask. Well, that’s pretty easy… So I can say anything and absolutely everything I want to say, without having to worry about someone who actually knows me finding it. No, I don’t have psycho thoughts about killing thousands of people. I don’t have a secret personality that worships the devil. I just think that – I have had all these thoughts and topics dancing in my head for the last month or so, and all I think is ‘Well, lady, you cannot post that’. It’s boring. It’s dull, it makes my blog a “filtered” one, even though many posts have been writen at the moment of publishing… still, not how I saw myself blogging.
I wish I were one of those girls who just did not give a fuck, who would write anything for whoever cares enough to read. But I am not. I used to post my posts on my Facebook wall when I first started THIS blog, back on Blogger, but I guess I just didn’t have as much to say as I did now, and it was mainly ‘poetry’. Or maybe it was because I was single and did not have to think of hurting anyone’s feelings…
Anyways, I said it. It’s been on my mind for weeks now.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the fact that people have reached out to me and contacted me to my personal email and found me on Facebook or Instagram. Fine with me. That is not the problem at all; I don’t want anyone to feel bad. I just sometimes wish I was a faceless, nameless girl writing on this blog.
Hugs and Kisses to anyone who gets to this line 🙂
Here I am, once again. My mind a pandemonium; on the verge of tears. Here I am trying to think of every possibility, and trying to decide if I even want it to be real. What a foolish way to be. Tears will now start falling as I finally stop distracting my mind from it, and let myself feel. Let myself fall, let myself drown, die with every falling tear.
What the fuck is happening? Why did I allow myself to become this person in the first place? The past me would have never allowed this stuff to happen to her, to her core. She wouldn’t have allowed it to get infected, broken… taken away from her. Infected.
It’s getting so hard to write… or think straight.
My mind is going crazy dancing around assumptions, but it still hasn’t reached a conclusion. I don’t even know how to feel. I’ve cried, gotten angry, I’ve ignored it and tried to tell myself that this is what the lack of trust does to people, they make you paranoid. But when misused the idea of paranoia can be turned into just an excuse to make you doubt your intuition. I am tired of this. I am tired of being this person I am not meant to be. I am tired, Tired, tired.
…I should have known better.
But how can you stop your heart from feeling, how can you refrain yourself from living amidst the passion and the love? How can you be stone-cold? On the other hand… How can you trip, over and over again, with the same stone?
I have so many passions.
Ever since I can remember I have written. As a child, I remember filling notebooks and notebooks of what I called “novels“. I would make up stories, I would document things; I would just write and write. I remember the stack of notebooks in my room and how sad I was when my mom couldn’t stand the mess anymore and just threw them all away. I wrote my first poem when my great-grandmother died. I was like seven. It was four pages long. when my mother read it she was shocked and held on to it until you couldn’t read anything anymore. I remember always having a notebook at hand, either a normal one or a sketch notebook, in which I would just draw sketches of clothing, shoes, and even hairdos (yes, hair styles hahaha) I remember all the little dolls I drew and all the little clothes I made up, filling each page with like 20 different items. Drawing mermaids all over the place. I remember feeling happy. I was a kid. Oh, I also love makeup. Like, a LOT!
Now, nineteen going into twenty I find myself feeling…confused. What should I do with my life? What is my true passion? Where should I go? … I started college at seventeen, and even though my dream job was to be a plastic surgeon, somehow the time seemed too much for me and a I changed four months before applying to the university to International Business. Now, don’t get me wrong. I love business. I love being competitive, and I love coming up with strategies and it fills me in a way, but being filled in one way is not happiness. Within the passing years I have realized I have a growing passion for Fashion and makeup, I started messing around with makeup since age thirteen, and whenever I look at an editorial picture or celebrity, that’s the first thing I notice. Regarding fashion, I have started to sketch my own designs and watch fashion shows non-religiously and read and read on fashion and follow over 30 fashion/beauty blogs on Bloglovin’ (not that I ever read them all). But, I love it. Would I dare to put my life on it and base my life around it? I don’t think I’m courageous enough.
I also want to be a writer, Oh so bad. It’s always been a dream of mine to have a published book, but it’s also been a dream of mine to have my own makeup line, and now I would love to have my own clothing line. Ugh, life is so hard when it comes to choosing who you’re going to be for the rest of your life. I guess I’ll do my best at trying to juggle everything, and slowly start dropping things when I realize -by practice- that you can’t do too many things at once and excel at them all.
Which will bring me back to my original dilemma: Which one do I hold on the strongest to?
I’ve always been a loner.
Growing up, I never really had many friends in school. Yes, there was the usual everyone’s your friend crap that would happen in any small-sized school, but then again, not really. Knowing a lot of people and being friends with a lot of people are two different things. I’m not saying I did not have any friends, because I did. I had friend over friend and then group over group as my life progressed. And one by one I left them all behind. Now I notice I was never really interested.
I think it started in Middle-School/High School. I was skipped a grade (7th) and was thrown into a bunch of people I didn’t know. I was the youngest, and apparently the smartest. But I’ve never been one to let any of that “If You’re school smart, You’re DEFINITIVELY Life smart” crap go to my head. I barely ever studied, but I had good grades and the highest academic and psychologically-tested (they used to test us at my school) average. That’s the end of it, and not the point of this. Point is I started seeing different characters and personalities. I got my first taste at hypocrisy, among many other things. I got my first taste at many things… I guess back then I sort of noted I was different.
I don’t know. I don’t know what to believe about it, I don’t know why I can’t truly feel connected to anyone for so long. I guess I am weird. I guess I am broken like that. I guess I am meant to travel this world alone. Maybe I’m just meant to be an alien in my own land. I guess I’m fucked up. I honestly don’t know. It’s not that I am emo, because I obviously am not. It’s not that I feel superior to others and hence cannot befriend them, because that -obviously- is not the case. It’s not that I have trouble speaking, because I am good at it. I guess I have trouble relating. I have trouble relating to people. Maybe I just have a trouble with people who live around me. My country -or my town- is filled with such troubled people, and it’s hard to find an honest couple of friends. I guess getting betrayed again and again causes people to change. I guess I’m just trying to feel more normal by saying stuff like this. But then again not really. As of right now I feel more comfortable being friend-less than hanging out with a bunch of people who are full of sh.. Will that be my way of accepting that I am simply not made for that? Being no psychologist, I guess I’ll never know.
I partly enjoy being alone, it gives me inner peace, and THAT is something I do know 🙂
Last look I worked on for my beauty blog♥.
It’s been enough. I am numb.
I never thought I would be able to get to this point while having someone I love, but I have. It’s sad, and cold, and refreshing, and somehow cool in here, because nothing hurts anymore, or matters anymore, or itches or aches anymore. Nothing.
I used to think that when -If- I ever went numb again I would be this bitter, sad, grumpy person all the time who would not enjoy anything or anyone in life. I thought I’d cry, and cry, and cry my whole days and nights. It’s so obvious we normal human beings truly don’t know a thing.
I don’t know what to write anymore.. I’m freshly-numbed, after all.
I try. I try so hard to trust you. Trust me, I do.
But sometimes trying isn’t enough. Sometimes time just doesn’t cut it.
Sometimes love is not blinding, but treacherous…
Making us doubt the person we love the most, each and every single word.
But that’s trust.
Trust is a bitch who never forgives, who never forgets, who never regrets. Trust is a bitch that leaves and seldom comes back again. And if it does it’s after stirring hell up and forbidding you heaven. Trust is THE mother of all bitches, the one you don’t fuck with. Trust is the one that teaches you a lesson, as many times as you need a repeat.
And if it ever comes back, it comes home, yet leaves its luggage by the door. At the slighest sense of being-fucked-over, that bitch is gone.
I gave him a second chance. (the fourth, actually -but none had been this ‘drastic’) After suffering for weeks, and expecting something that never came, I had given up on him, I had given up on me giving up on him. I had given up on us, or the illusion of us I used to had.
I was happy, with short moments of slight sadness/depression. I was content with life and everything it could offer me. I was proud of myself for having walked away.
“Time to Open up new paths” I’d say again, and again.
But sometimes what we say has little or no real meaning.
The day after breaking up with him I felt free. I felt the weight of having to worry about his “tight” way of thinking brush off my shoulders. I felt like dancing again, and drawing again… I felt like it was my time again, as it used to always be. I have to confess, regardless of those moments in which I missed what we were and got sad, Happy was my normal state of mind.
But the rabbit hole is never too far from Alice.
He came back, as was expected, and eventually I gave him a second chance.
That was almost two weeks ago. I’m still waiting to see what happens.
.Art taken from Naomi
I don’t know who I am today (right now)
I don’t know if I’m the brave girl who couldn’t wait to see what else life had for her, or the scared girl that conformed to normality, to what was known, to life as has been lived before. I don’t know If I feel this way because I made a wrong turn, by mistake rather than design. Maybe this is what happens when you are going down the wrong path in life. Maybe that is why this is the first day of 2 months in which I feel this way. MAYBE I’m just tired…
MAybe I’m just sad for what I’ve lost, maybe life has hit me so hard and broken me down so much I don’t want to believe in second chances, I don’t want to believe in fairytales, I don’t want to allow myself to believe in you… and everything that you represent.
Maybe deep inside me i know it won’t go well. Maybe I’m too busy blaming everything else.
Maybe this mood has been brought to me cortesy of Ricardo Arjona…
Perhaps the pressure of my lungs trying to reach for air pressing in my skin is trying to tell me i’ve made a mistake.
Maybe it’s the lack of sleep…
Or maybe it’s just me.