Where I told you
I love you
Prompt: “We dated, it ended, it didn’t work. I can’t let go of it though, I won’t. I’m still in love, and I’ll love them to my grave. I’m not moving on, I just refuse to. It was too right and so I’ll stay emotionally wrapped within it. Others will scoff and ridicule, but I’ll still have half of this relationship.”
It saddens me because apparently this kind of condition and the prolonged feeling is not rare. I know someone like this and I’m pretty sure some people do too. But the saddest past is probably even though I’m pretty sure I tell myself I wouldn’t love someone to my grave, I know exactly how does that prompt feels.
Someone messaged me the other day asking me how I manage to keep it all together, that they admired how peaceful and at ease I seem with my life. I thought about the question for a whole 5 seconds before I removed myself from my room to keep myself from tossing my laptop out of the window. It’s interesting, actually, how often I am told this - that I always seem so calm and content, when in reality I feel like I have four different countries in my head and each one of them is experiencing some kind of natural disaster all at the exact same time. On top of that, each country is screaming at me in a different language and I am just trying to piece their words together so I can try and understand my own. I don’t think I’ve ever had a point in my life where I’ve felt at peace, I’ve always felt like a tiny fish swimming from country to country, trying to predict the nature of the oceans separating one from the other. Sometimes I wonder what I would look like if I actually was happy with myself, how I would come across to others if there wasn’t always some kind of mess I had to clean up inside my head. Maybe I’d look less put-together? Perhaps if the pain went away, maybe then people would instead start asking me what was wrong and I’d say ‘nothing! absolutely nothing’ and finally mean it. Because right now my head is at war and I am drowning beneath the waves separating my thoughts, sinking like some kind of deep-sea creature where it’s calm and peaceful, while a storm above me rages. Maybe tomorrow I’ll come up for air and find that each country has cleaned up its mess, that the storm has passed and a peace-treaty has been signed to put everyone at ease. At least that’s what I’ve been telling myself each morning - that tomorrow, the war will be over and I can finally come back to the surface. It’s a dream I have all the time, a deep dream hidden in the middle of the ocean where nothing can touch me. To answer your question, no I’m not okay and I never have been. I may come across as calm, but doesn’t everyone look that way after they’ve drowned?