Idleness is normally when the throbs of a painful reality can be felt. Idleness, silence, and solitude. So it's no wonder that this is the first time since that I've felt this deep sickness, this jolting in the pit of my chest, now that I'm sitting idle, silent and completely alone.
Well, that was about thirty minutes ago. Now, the streams of unwanted tears have dried upon my cheeks, burying into my skin, and burning into my soul. They also decorate the silver paneling of my laptop, and have left an invisible path from one wall of my room to the other, a path that has been walked raw by my pacing feet, my racing mind. A quiet voice in my head is hopeful. "It's all for the better." "It could be worse." All for the better, could be worse. The better, be worse. Better, worse. It's hard for any portion of me to believe it.
If I ever faced such a daunting internal conflict, I cannot remember when. The love for him just wants him to be happy, no matter what must be sacrificed. The love for myself just wants.. him, and his happiness. I try to look back and remember when those two could no longer coexist, and I cannot.
Harder than looking back, is looking forward. I believe the ill feeling in my chest, the one that makes me want to double over a toilet and purge every ounce of emotion from body, is caused by the fact that I pray that one day we'll be, and I'm not sure if he does. I pray both silently and audibly to any One deeming me worthy enough to hear my pleas that seven days ago wouldn't be the last time, not knowing if that was his intentional secret goodbye.
I feel weak, fragile and certainly confused. Yet, grateful. Grateful for every moment, every kiss, every touch, and even more importantly, every thought he had of me. I'm grateful for our continuing friendship. And I'm grateful for our destines, that allowed our paths to momentarily align, and will perhaps align them again.
Well, that was about thirty minutes ago. Now, the streams of unwanted tears have dried upon my cheeks, burying into my skin, and burning into my soul. They also decorate the silver paneling of my laptop, and have left an invisible path from one wall of my room to the other, a path that has been walked raw by my pacing feet, my racing mind. A quiet voice in my head is hopeful. "It's all for the better." "It could be worse." All for the better, could be worse. The better, be worse. Better, worse. It's hard for any portion of me to believe it.
If I ever faced such a daunting internal conflict, I cannot remember when. The love for him just wants him to be happy, no matter what must be sacrificed. The love for myself just wants.. him, and his happiness. I try to look back and remember when those two could no longer coexist, and I cannot.
Harder than looking back, is looking forward. I believe the ill feeling in my chest, the one that makes me want to double over a toilet and purge every ounce of emotion from body, is caused by the fact that I pray that one day we'll be, and I'm not sure if he does. I pray both silently and audibly to any One deeming me worthy enough to hear my pleas that seven days ago wouldn't be the last time, not knowing if that was his intentional secret goodbye.
I feel weak, fragile and certainly confused. Yet, grateful. Grateful for every moment, every kiss, every touch, and even more importantly, every thought he had of me. I'm grateful for our continuing friendship. And I'm grateful for our destines, that allowed our paths to momentarily align, and will perhaps align them again.
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