6.19.14 // Her and I

diary entry

It’s really quite a wake-up call when you realize as soon as you get over someone, there’s another potential heartbreak waiting on the other side. You’re always grappling with these dangerous coping mechanisms and telling yourself that yes, I’ve moved on, I’m alright when you know that a tiny piece of you would give anything to do it all again. The hurt is simply part of the experience. But is it really so hard to understand that I’m over him and I don’t want him back but I wouldn’t mind things being that way again? For a little while I felt safe and I felt at peace. Maybe that was our problem.

                We don’t talk anymore, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

She’s sick. Her mind is a tangled web of what to do and what to say. She feels like such a mess she’s lost her filters�"she says what she thinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

                I can’t lie and say I love that about her.

                But I love her.

I can’t lie and say I love the way she is when she doesn’t take her pills, the way her moods come and go like cars on a freeway. She says things that make me jealous. She says things that bring my whole day crashing down around me, but I love her.

                Through all her flaws, I still wouldn’t deserve her in a million years, because I’m distant and cold and I don’t like to talk. My problem is I don’t like to talk. I crave the distance, the frigid feeling of a raw aloneness you only get when it’s 3am and the world has ground to a halt, and you’re lying in your room staring at your ceiling fan and your favorite music is playing and all you can think is I want to die here like this. I don’t want this to ever end.

                She’s terrified of being alone, and I live for it.

We deal with solidary in completely different ways that in the end, I don’t find to be very different at all. She smokes her life away while I’m pushed under the crashing surface of the very music keeping me alive.

                Music is the blood pumping through my veins, the air in my lungs, and someday the loose earth around my cold body. Millions of people are listening to this for millions of different reasons and I’m as insignificant as a blade of grass in an endless field, and yet… laying on the floor, completely and utterly alone at two in the morning is the only time and place where I feel as if I truly matter.

                Music is my home, my happy place. She is the reason I live. The two don’t mix.

Author's Note

diary entry