It doesn't make sense. It's not I'm being attacked by the financial world. My external shell is intact, plastered down with see-through tape. I have it together. I pay my bills on time. I make ends meet. No matter what it takes. I haven't been going out, nor eating out. I've been really stingy when it comes to modes of transportation knowing very well, one day, I will have to fill up my tank once again. Even then I make sure I go to the gas station with the cheapest prices. When I go grocery shopping, I snatch the specials without question. I buy what I can at the cheapest price, and return whatever "extra stuff" I picked up without-thinking. My room is in order. I have a schedule. I've been working out. I'm writing again. I'm keeping up with my readings.
And yet, there's still something wrong. There's still something dramatically off balance. Its the insides...the cholesterol of the yolk...that's tearing me apart.
Whatever song. Whatever place. Whatever memory that's anywhere close to reminding me of you. It's still around, haunting me and taunting me and watching my every move.
If I knew...if I only knew the toll it would take on me...its power...
Some people say "It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." I'm not gonna lie, falling in love is not something everyone in the world gets to experience. It's a privilege. It's luck. It's perfect timing. It's the staying in love that takes a lot of work, the main determinant of one's strength.
Nevertheless, I can't help but wonder, what my life would be like if I never did. Because this? This just hurts and aches and screams with China-shattering agony.
I do nothing. I don't work. I just study, and work out, and do whatever I feel like doing. I wake up, whenever I want. I go to sleep, whenever I want. There's infinitely nothing that can be truly considered a stressor in my life.
Yet why, oh why, do I feel so exhausted by the end of the night?
It's because of this. All this. Purgatorial mayhem. Between who I was, and who I'm trying to be. Only I have no idea who I'm trying to be anymore. Because who I was, who I was...was who I thought I wanted to be.
Jibberish. Crap. Negativity. Crap.
No comments:
Post a Comment