It’s been weeks since then.. I haven’t done much but write write cry write cry and cry a little more. I’d sleep of course, to get away from living. I’ve always thought of sleep as a psychotic break from reality rather than just resting. Since then, I’ve just been writing. About what? Honestly, I can’t remember a damn thing. But there’s so much. Notebooks filled, forums with scores of comments, loose leaf paper thrown into garbage pails everywhere half filled or completely covered in words.
There’s nothing to say though. I’ve nothing to tell the world that the world hasn’t already heard. Nothing to tell anyone at all… as far as I know. But I write, trying to get that empty feeling out, that nameless emotion that’s sleeping inside me… perhaps not nameless, but not realized. Does that make sense? It should. Does to me. Then again, you’re not me nor is anyone else. So what’s the purpose of all this? My fingers ache, my arm muscles plead with me to stop, even to rest for a few days. I’m hurting myself by my own stubbornness. It wasn’t my fault though. Maybe I lead Him to it, but it was His decision. And now I just wait. Wait for something unknown.. for a new beginning, closure, completeness, I’m not sure. Maybe just waiting for Death because I can’t remember why I’m living. But Death is far from me, and he’ll not waste his time taunting me. Death knows better, knows I’m not as weak as I’m percieved. He used to tell me I was stronger than I thought I was, though I never believed Him. He used to tell me a lot of things about me.. some that I thought just weren’t true, and others I just never noticed or acknowledged. Seemed as if He knew me more than I knew myself. I wonder if He knew I loved him?.. before what happened, I mean. I told Him once before that love from me was difficult, just like trust from me.. He did know I trusted Him. Perhaps He wondered once or twice. We never talked of love much, no more than twice. Everything else was open season. Talked about relationships, our pasts, opinions, farm animals, old people, babies, and even frogs. Anything and everything. He was my first best friend. As they say, all good things come to an end, I never understood why. I did tell Him that I loved Him, He might have been a little frightened of me at that moment, but I wouldn’t take it back. And if He were, I would understand. But to leave? To forget me and everything in our friendship? I can’t understand that. So I write and write, hoping that one day I’ll finally find the right words. That perfect sentence to explain it all. Sometimes it feels as if I almost have it, but there’s a piece missing. A piece missing that maybe He’d be able to place in for me, like He has many times before. There’s times when I can’t remember why I’m living, then I think about what He said to me, and for a second I remember it all.
Maybe.. He’s the missing piece to me.
—If you just read that, thank you for bothering. You’re most likely completely confused right now, which is quite normal when it comes to my writing and comments. I don’t expect anyone to understand that, I don’t expect anyone to care about that, I don’t even expect the editors at darkness to post it, but I wrote it. Why? I still can’t remember. The point is…. well, it’s open for interpretation, like everything else. If you’d like.—