It hurts

It hurts. I like to be alone when I hurt. Lick my wounds in silence, because monsters can smell weakness and they live all around us.

“Its only a thought and a thought can be changed,” says Louise Hay.

My tendency to isolate is problematic. My tendency to ignore my emotions and keep myself out of touch with myself is even more so. But who wants to write about every single memory? Who wants to remember anyway? Who wants to bleed if bleeding isn’t necessarily necessary? Or maybe it is. Who knows. All I know is that I miss him. I miss his eyes. I miss his lips. I miss his breath. I miss his skin. I miss his kisses. And then I think I never had much of that at all the past few years… It was like being divorced whilst being married, being together, but worlds apart. That hurt.

I still wonder, sometimes, why I miss him and then I wonder why it didn’t work out. Why couldn’t he just… Why couldn’t I just… Why couldn’t we just… Why couldn’t the world just… It was supposed to be a fairytale, happily ever after, forever after. And then forever ended before it was time and now I’m left with…painful memories of a life that would’ve been everything.

How do I even begin to forget this hurt? How long will it hurt? How often? What am I supposed to do to work through it? Please someone, anyone just tell me what to do, because I always know, but this time I don’t.

One thought on “It hurts

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