The three of us.
The three of us.
The three of us.
We’re so stupid, but I do love you. Perhaps your motives were different, but you thought of me, and helped me find closure. My revenge, your revenge. Your anger, your tears will not be forgotten. I feel a warmth and happiness through the sadness. A burden we can ease together and have a sigh of temporary relief. All this time, I didn’t think I was that important to you. I see it, I feel it. No secrets. I can sleep easier tonight.
Sleep blissfully, young babe, tightly wrapped blankets sewn with love and care, to protect you from the dark chills of the cold and sadness. Don’t worry of anything, there will be people who will watch over you while you sleep and will be there to dote on you when you wake. So sleep, let your imagination soar, dream of the unimaginable. Never feel sad, sweet child. There is someone in this world and always be someone who will give you their everything so you are never unhappy. There is nothing you cannot do, the world is your oyster.
All because they want you to grow up being an optimist, an opportunist, a delightful well-rounded person.
All because they don’t want you to become the regretful heartless person they are now.
Once you fall out of love with something, it’s done. Over. Nothing will reignite that excitement and joy you had felt from the beginning and near-end. The darkness of resentment and hatred plagues the once good things, and everything becomes ugly. You hate it all, everything in sight, and your blood boils with venom.
I need a new life. I desperately need a way out of here. I wish I could just cry my eyes out, but the tears dry up from the anger. I want these vindictive and hateful feelings to go away, but they diffuse like a bomb, and I am left alone and miserable.
The first time, you’re scared. So you keep quiet, don’t tell a single cell what has happened to you. It’s only your nightmare to replay in your head over and over. Then time washes over your secret and heals it, just enough to get on with your life, to put your head up and feel the radiant sun beat upon your milky skin. Just enough to make you smile. Barely enough to make you forget and realize the scar that has been left on you.
The second time, you’re still scared. But much less than embarrassed. You are incredibly embarrassed because you are once again in this stupid scenario. Crippled in shame, you are just confused how to go about this. You would expect time to heal, hoping that the recovery will be speedier because you have been through it already and the scar to appear minimal as well. This time you tell people the less offensive details of the subject, they try to console, but it makes you feel not better, but numb. Numb. Your fingertips, your lips, your chest, your toes, your head, your soul. The only thing racing is your heart because it is afraid, of you.
There is nothing more tiring and worrisome than the feeling of emptiness. That kind of emptiness, not an empty stomach, or an empty house, or an empty bank account, an insatiable emptiness in feeling, in your soul. When you feel that kind of emptiness, you add filler to stuff the space hoping it will let you feel content, but it’s only filler. It keeps you content for so long, until you need more. And more. And more. Cheap thrills, booze, false quick companionship, meaningless dialogue, just to keep you busy and full for that moment. Then the night turns into day and you’ve gained nothing and you’re still empty. Running on empty, that lights been lit on the dashboard for so long. It’s scary how little miles are left until you will stop, stranded, shut down. And the next filler is nowhere in sight.
