paridhirustogi
You knew that you were an accomplice to our crime. We lied. To him. To each other, to ourselves. We cheated. You knew it wasn't fair and yet you put the blame on me.
When you heart broke which was bound to happen you ensured I suffered too. In each and every sense, you were a shitty partner.
I don't think you felt sorry about breaking my heart. I think you think I deserved it. As unaware as I was of how much I loved you, you were just as unaware of how much your love for me was changing into a desire to maim my soul.
I am not sorry that we happened though. For whatever it was worth, even the feeling of hurt sometimes matters more than no feelings at all.
Maybe he is a terrible person. You said it yourself. He never did love you.
But we really did have something special. It was true love. We were soul mates.
Were you? Why then did he leave?
He had places to be.
I never wanted to say goodbye. But moments are shorter when we wished they'd never end. I stood there, not wanting to leave feeling pushed away ever second.
Turns out I was being pushed away. The Captain no longer wanted to be mine.
Life your life that way, they say. And that way was insane. I listened in fear of being shunned. So I shunned away my dreams and desires instead.
It's alright, bud. Hang in there. Be a trooper.
I know the boys call you gay. And the girls call you pansy. I know and you know that they're not wrong. But it's okay. You are different. It's allowed.
It's unfair and it's wrong. I know and you know. And you know what? They know it too.
Alcohol soothes the pain like balm. Just a sip more and the pain reduces and you're less tired and more unaware. One more sip till the pain is forgotten and all that's left is emptiness.
You forget. I forget. We erase. Get erased. Disappearing as ice does in a warm glass of bourbon.
Sickness sucks. The indignities of disease are easy to get used to because they occur so slowly. Dying of illness is a very slow process. Nothing like a gun shot.
It takes days and years and an entire lifetime to get so sick that you die. And then you do and it doesn't matter.
The chip was implanted in my mind the first time you spoke to me. I always thought you were very cute. But when we spoke to me, the very first time, I knew this was love.
What else could it have been?
When you left, my brain would often go back in time and track your memories down. Sounds and smells and silence would remind me of you.
The love affair was doomed beforehand. Even before they kissed the first time, it was obvious that what had happened couldn't disappear.
That's the thing about love, rather about acting out when in love. The things that seem so illicit and hot then make no sense in the light of day and even lesser sense every day hence.
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