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MISSING HIM - Blog Posts
POV :
"when, you allow your lover to go out with his friends. you give your lover time to spend with his friends "
inspired by this :
"don't forget my love"
Z : four years, no call (?) are you kinding?
S : no...no..no..i mean..
Z : shut up, curls! I cant..
𝑖 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝚑𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑛 𝑝𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑖 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑡𝚑𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝚑𝑖𝑠 𝑚𝑓.𝑖 𝚑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝚑𝑖𝑚 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝚑 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 𝚑𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠 𝚑𝑖𝑚
I am too good at loving the villain, romanticising the devil. maybe this is why I always searched for monsters under my bed, ready to invite him in.
maybe all this time, the monster under my bed was you. I was destined for nothing other than a fire love, torture. this is why your pain does not scare me. I was born to love your darkness and fed you my light.
come on my love, I will hide under the bed with you forever.
in another universe I wasn’t scared to hate you. in another universe I hurt you just as much as you hurt me.
In another universe forgetting you was easy.
But this isn’t another universe. It’s reality and I still love you even though you hurt me.
Dear Harvey,
I never thought that I’d have to write a goodbye letter to you. I guess I just thought that we would end at least as friends, but it’s been two weeks since our conversation and I wonder if we just said goodbye without saying goodbye. This is the part where I start to wonder if the last ten months ever meant anything to you and if it was all just a moment in your life you’ll never think about again. Strangers to lovers and back to strangers again. I never was one for saying goodbye. Even if I see you ten years from now, I think my heart will still feel heavy. I think a part of me is ready to let go. To let what happened between us rest. Holding onto you is starting to hurt, and love should never hurt.
I do love you and the thing is... I’m only seventeen. And seventeen is a really inconvenient time to be in love with someone. I hope you know though, that I don’t blame you for anything. Sometimes people hurt other people and things like that need to happen for people to grow.
I think maybe we did belong to each other just for a slight moment it felt right. I’d like to blame time; she is an awful person to some. I don’t think she has ever liked me.
I’d like to blame those stupid books I read. The true blasphemy of literature is the romanticization of romance. They make it beautiful—all soft words, and elegant lines—and enchanting, with magic sparkling in the margins. And you can feel it in the depths of your soul, an unexplored ocean of laughter and tears and dreams all melded together. The yearning for a kiss that brushes against the steady and so so warm pulsing beat of life—against the smooth skin of a lover's neck. The desperation to touch another being and feel that they’re alive, right there next to you—right there, and never leaving. To love and be loved is a jewel among treasures and all that we each seek—all that we each desire.
It burns and it burns, and it burns. The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life I could have refused, could have torn my hair and screamed, and made you face your choices alone. But not in this one. You would sail to Troy, and I would follow, even into death. But I'm afraid we have reached the end of our love story. I’m turning to the next page, and you’ll stay on the one behind. Only to be read when my daughter who in twenty years will cry to me about how she loves a boy so much it burns her. I did too. I still do.
“I never meant to hurt you”
but you did.
the most.
it takes a certain kinda soul to see the beauty in someone’s darkness. Perhaps the truest kinda love is loving the darkest most ugliest parts of someone, and understanding that you might not be able to change them, but you’ll love them anyway.
love is understanding that he brought back the light in me, and I created the light in him. Even if the story ends with us shinning in different rooms.
the more I grow older, the more I realise, poets are liars. missing someone is not a romanticise ghost that haunts the corner of my room. It’s not remembering the smell with the flashes of good memories resurfacing . it’s hearing someone that sounds like them and your throat catching and then suddenly you’re unable to speak. It’s smelling what they used to smell like, and an uneasy amount of home sick rises up to your stomach and all of a sudden it pours out. It’s going to bed with a drowned pillow because the moment you close your eyes, they’re there. Picture perfect, as clears as day. the way they felt burns your body from the inside out. failing in love with someone is like the loving the devil, you’re lucky if you’re anything but a pawn in his silly little game.
sometimes the people we want forever aren’t always the people that want us forever, and that’s okay.
and tonight when you’re out with your friends, and you find your way into a girls arms, and you kiss her. I hope you pause, remembering the last words you said to me. I hope after that, you tell her you can’t go on with it anymore, and I hope you think of me, and you start to wish things went differently. And maybe that is really selfish of me and cruel to rather you miss me than be so good at forgetting, and maybe for the first time in my life I don’t care about being selfish, because all I care about is the thought of you with someone else and how it tears my stomach into pieces.
