Sunday, May 13, 2012

Wounds left dry

Since the breakup, I've developed a sense of entitlement I don't deserve to have. I pass writing assignments as late as a week ahead of the deadline. I've even stopped giving excuses, because by now, my clients must have realized how lame and ridiculous they are. Besides, at this point, I might have singled out every possible excuse to not write.

The only time I can ever really get words out of my mind is when I remember a certain memory that brings me back to when we were together. When that happens, wherever I am, I'd take out whatever device or piece of paper I can scribble on, and just let myself express.

I'm not in one of those times, but let me try to string words together without the requisite overload of emotions. Let me try to get back on my feet again.

Music helps. I don't think I've listened to music this much. Here's one song on repeat. I guess I could relate to the song--how something so good begins and progresses for quite a while, and how it has to stop all at once, and how the chances of running away start to slim down.... As for us, well, I think we managed to run away before the doors were too hot to touch.

It helps that I get to talk to him every once in a while. That I find out he's doing well. And that's reason enough for me to move on and get over it. If anything, I'm damn competitive. I don't think I'd allow myself to sulk in a corner pathetically living through the memories over and over again, knowing that he's quite happy with himself.

I get sad and tear up at the most random moments. I got sad when we landed from the plane. That one time when I was just reading a finance-related article. Even when I was fucking walking in the mall. And yes, I realize how sad and pathetic that is. I've been through five formal relationships for fuck's sake, but not once can I recall being so stubbornly stupid in love. I'm simply not supposed to be the type of guy whose life fritters away after getting his heart broken.

Am I still holding on to that slimming chance that someday, when, as he said, the world becomes nicer, he might consider this life? I think that saying yes would be blind optimism, and I'm not even optimistic to begin with. So I'm saying no. Because no is the probably the truth. Because no is pessimistic, and no is who I am.

When I'm sad I stop myself from asking him: "Is it possible to get back together?" Instead I take out a sheet of paper listing what the reasons are for breaking up. The blood isn't in my hands. More blood is smeared in his than in mine. I remind myself that it was a decision that had to be made, a decision that I have to be mature enough to stand by. So stop being so fucked up, because you brought this upon yourself,

This is also the point where I realize that in the end, there's really no one else to pick me up but myself. I've been dating, but it didn't change a thing. Once I took out my phone and rudely texted in front of the other guy. Texted him, in fact. I couldn't care less for the guy I was dating. I wasn't interested, but for propriety's sake, that wasn't a gentlemanly thing to do.

I did meet someone who understood my situation. I can't say I'm counting on that person just yet, or if i can ever count on anyone ever again. But just like music, I have to say: it really helps.

Right now I'm just trying to write.

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