Have you ever been abandoned?
...I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt…
Didn’t you lose love for yourself because you let their horrible love become your standard? Didn’t you avoid mirrors because you wouldn’t like yourself? Didn’t you not shower, go uncombed, ungroomed for days? Didn’t you sit in the mornings, afternoons, and nights, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything in your head while your work, friends, and life suffered?
But ‘it happens to everyone’. Didn’t you tell yourself that even in your pain, you were ordinary?
…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you…
Weren’t you angry in the bones?
Didn’t you have memories bubbling inside your chest like lava, but the volcano wouldn’t explode unless they were in front of you? Didn’t you scroll through their texts, back-trace your mind to Christmas, to the drunk love confessions you had then starred? Didn’t you scoff, yet again, at the I love you’s, at your first butterflies?
Didn’t you tire yourself walking kilometres just so sleep would get you before your thoughts erupted? Didn’t you become a slave to your mind? Didn’t you remember everything—when things were pleasant, the little fights, the downward spiral? Didn’t you condemn yourself for building a home in them, a home you thought wasn’t fragile?
…when you had not touched me yet…
And didn’t you walk yourself through the last kiss, the last time you held hands, the last time you felt you had them, though the universe was crumbling? Through the second last kiss, the third last, through every that you could remember, all the way to the first.
Haven’t you walked yourself through every first? Haven’t you wished you would fall a little less for those things if you could, so you wouldn’t be as trapped in love as you are?
...I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you…
Didn’t the timeline in your memory split? Didn’t some differences become landmarks of when you lost how much of them? Didn’t you stumble upon your own faults? Didn’t it haunt you at night?
Maybe if you could go back in time and change things, it would all unfold differently. Maybe this wasn’t destiny but manufactured fate.
Or maybe they would have left anyway, but if you had only picked red flags better, you wouldn’t be so hopelessly in love.
…and then I can tell myself, what the hell I’m supposed to do…
Didn’t you get tired of everything, your own feelings? Didn’t you wish you could just get out of it, to be able to tell yourself there was nothing you could do better? Didn’t you wish you could just accept things and move on?
...take me back to the night we met…
is not a love song.
Image Credits: Bustle
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