calloftheabyss
Member
- Aug 30, 2023
- 18
It's been 2 years since we broke things off. Only 1 since we last talked, but still. I don't know why I dream of us every night. I wish I didn't. I don't understand how you're still the first thought I have when I wake up, or my last when I fall asleep, but I wish you weren't. I don't know how, but my love has grown even stronger. I don't know how to stop it. I had been doing all the things, every little thing, that psychology tells me to get better. Proper diet, exercise, and sleep within the realms of my possibility. I've even been actively dating, but... What am I to do when I sit across from her, and her life, or her smile, or anything, brings me right back to you. I can only be so mindful, so present in my daily life. I can only count my way through my senses, or square box breathe, or journal or SHOUT INTO THE VOID only so many times before I'm drained. I don't get it, this deep rooted depression I hold so tightly in my chest, the same one I used as an excuse to push you away, I don't understand how to fill that void, or simply life with it, gnawing and gnashing at my sanity.
I miss you, more than life itself. I pray for the day that I no longer do. I pray of a better life for you.
Objectively, I'm doing well. I'm making friends, sweeping women off their feet, succeeding in my career; every part of my life has slowly become better in your absence. Either by my own determination to stay moving, to keep growing, or to try to kill the man that lost you, I have become better. So... Why am I not better? What cacophony of madness have I inherited? What curse is this that plagues me so? What creator devised such a cruel joke as the suicidal man who doesn't have the power to end things?
The scariest part? Even if the world was exactly how I wanted it, with the love of my life at my side, the winds of change in my hair, even then... I know deep down this pit would remain. I will always be homesick for a place that doesn't exist, for a home never built, for the bed that can never be made. I'll always be devoured in my own hopelessness. No matter the seeds of joy, of success that I sow... The abyss, it will always call to me.
I miss you, more than life itself. I pray for the day that I no longer do. I pray of a better life for you.
Objectively, I'm doing well. I'm making friends, sweeping women off their feet, succeeding in my career; every part of my life has slowly become better in your absence. Either by my own determination to stay moving, to keep growing, or to try to kill the man that lost you, I have become better. So... Why am I not better? What cacophony of madness have I inherited? What curse is this that plagues me so? What creator devised such a cruel joke as the suicidal man who doesn't have the power to end things?
The scariest part? Even if the world was exactly how I wanted it, with the love of my life at my side, the winds of change in my hair, even then... I know deep down this pit would remain. I will always be homesick for a place that doesn't exist, for a home never built, for the bed that can never be made. I'll always be devoured in my own hopelessness. No matter the seeds of joy, of success that I sow... The abyss, it will always call to me.
