By not telling you that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything feels like I’m withholding an important piece of information from you. It makes me feel extremely guilty. And at this moment, this is the only thing that truly, permanently hurts about feeling like I do.
Other than that… I wonder where all the pain went. And why. I don’t feel it as often as I used to. I know it all started when I got that anxiety attack, when I realized that things had gone too far. I still feel jealous, and hurt, and my pride is broken. But does it even matter? I don’t even feel the urge to write about you anymore.
It just… stopped hurting. And I like it. I’m not suffering anymore. I still feel it every now and then - jealousy, anxiety, paranoia, longing. All of it. Not for long, and not often. It’s all in its right place and measure. It feels rational and real.
Maybe I just stopped giving a fuck because it was killing me.
(I’m glad I did.)
But I feel like I should tell you, if I truly want to leave it all behind. But at the moment, and concerning you, there are far more important things. What would I earn by telling you? Part of you maybe aches to know, but in the long run, you’d really hate it. I like things the way they are, for the first time ever. Thank you very much.
Contradictory feelings suck. Also, and not that unrelated, distance is a motherfucking bitch as well.
Posted on Saturday, 9 January 2010
