Days pass by. It feels like on days that I don’t see you, even on days when I don’t talk to you much, like life stops. Feels like nothing can ever happen if you’re not there. Feels like nothing matters without you. What a mistake to let myself get in so deep…
On days like this I hate myself. I hate my life. I hate life. I wish I could hate you. On days like this I just want to go to bed, fall sleep, and never have to open my eyes to the cruel world again. I just want to forget. Forget that I ever met you. Forget that I ever got close to you. And forget that you ever treated me this way. Forget the whole day, and go back to my crooked happy life with you.
I have no intention of attending class today. Give me a break, the stupid exams just ended the other day! But you want to meet. You know how weak I am when it comes to that. You call me to you, I am there for you. I wish I could say the same about you. I don’t even hesitate to think about me. And besides, I know you haven’t noticed, but I stopped asking you to meet me weeks ago. Now I have to stick with what you plan. Since it doesn’t happen much, then I go with whatever you suggest.
So, I’m there in the morning. It’s supposed to be fun. But I’ve been away from you for a long time. Haven’t talked to you. Haven’t met you. Haven’t been in your arms. Haven’t felt your love. I’m needy. And when I’m that, what I do is hide behind a mask of anger. I am angry too. I remember all the things you never do, and all the times you’re never there, and I’m angry.
You’re the insensitive you today. The one who jokes and laughs and doesn’t even see the pain in my eyes. I don’t like you very much today!
- I don’t like you very much today!
- So you tell me!
- Ok. I guess this is it then. I guess I’ve had enough. More than enough actually. All this time, I’ve been fooling myself into believing that you care. It’s been a big lie.
- What’s been a lie?
- Everything. All of it. Every moment you spent with me. Everything we did together. It was a big lie. How stupid of me to believe you!
- Is that a question or a statement?
- You did tell me that you loved me. You know you did. And it was a lie. I have all the proof I need, more than what I need actually, to believe that you care for her. Not for me. You used me to get her jealous, to get her back to you. I hate it that you lied. I hate it that you’re so weak you can’t make a decision.
- Out of everything you just said, I only agree with the part about not making decisions.
- I don’t care. I want out. I’m getting out of your life…
I grab my purse and walk out. My tears are blinding me. I can’t walk. I sit on the sidewalk to cry my heart out. Maybe then I can move on. I’m out of breath, choking, when you come and touch me on my shoulder. I’m longing for you to try to hug me, to say something nice. As usual, you don’t.
You go back to the issues of me, never having believed you. And I still have unanswered questions:
- There’s no way, anyone, in the whole world, can love her and me both. I believe in loving different people at the same time. But it can’t happen with her and me. What exactly is it that you feel for her?
- Well, there are times when I want to bite her head off. And times when I care about her.
- What exactly does it mean I care about her?
- I don’t know. She still cares about me too.
- That’s where you’re wrong. But it’s not my problem. Why did you lie to me?
- I didn’t lie to you. Everything we did or had, it was real.
- It wasn’t. You told me you loved me.
- I don’t love anyone. If I loved her I wouldn’t be with you. If I loved you I would be with you.
This is the last blow. I hope you enjoyed it. My body’s burning on the outside. It’ll burn your hand to touch me. My inside, freaking freezing. Actually, frozen. I feel I will never be warm again. I feel there’s no hot red blood flowing in my veins anymore. It’s ice. Tiny pieces of it. Millions of them. They cut me and hurt me and pierce my heart. They kill me thousands of times a second. Yet they don’t draw blood. You don’t see me die, and die, and die again, in your merciless hands. You don’t see my blood on them.
- I thought you were with me. I believed you were with me.
- How could I have?
- The whole time, I believed you wanted to be there for me and with me all the time, because you loved me. But I thought you didn’t want to go back on your word to her; that you wanted to help her, and that was why you couldn’t leave her. That was why I could feel the smallest degree of respect for you. Now I see it had nothing to do with your moral and noble ideas. It’s simply because you don’t love me!
- Did you really know those things? Did you really believe me? Believed in me?
- Why else do you think I stayed with you?
I tell you that your eyes don’t talk to me anymore. That they never did. That it’s been my imaginations all the time, because I so desperately wanted to believe you. But, it’s a lie. Your eyes still talk to me. Maybe not of love. But they talk.
I know why you don’t love anyone. Because you don’t love yourself.
Today, you tell me that you married out of love and stupidity. With the second I totally agree. The first one, I don’t believe. Love, the sacred love that you and I say we believe in, it never ends in what you share with her now. True love doesn’t end in enmity and misery. True love doesn’t end! But you won’t feel it unless you come to terms with yourself. You have to feel love and respect for yourself first, so you can know you are worthy of that sacred love, then you’ll feel it, for the right person only. It’s in your eyes that you don’t love yourself much.
Your eyes talk to me. They tell me how I’ve hurt your pride today. That’s why I don’t slap you, though I believe you deserve it. They tell me how happy you are at the same time, because I just told you that I believed in you and in your love. If I say it now, now that I’m practically kicking you goodbye, then I mean it. And my heart goes out to you to see that happy amazed young look in your eyes. I’ve never seen your eyes like that with her. That’s one thing that I, and only I, can do for you.
Your eyes, how they talk to me! Your eyes tell me about your doubts. They are a reflection of mine. Am I actually watching my own eyes in yours, or am I truly reading the same question in yours? I don’t know. I guess you don’t mean it for me to see, but you’re not trying to convince me to stay with you, because you’re asking yourself if it will be better, easier, wiser, for both of us, to say goodbye today. I ask myself the same questions. I wonder if it will be best. But I don’t believe it is. Neither do you. You just don’t get on your knees to beg me to stay, because you want to be able to blame me afterwards. When the time comes, you’re going to tell me that I chose to stay, that I was in this relationship of my own accord. It’s your way of not feeling responsible.
Guess what, you will be responsible, no matter what. You took full responsibility for the whole affair on the night our story began.
Do you know what it is that you hold over me? What makes me come back to you all the time? What binds me to you so tightly that I can’t break free no matter how hard I try?
Your eyes.
- You can still prove to me that you care.
- I can’t.
- You can, in about five seconds.
- I can’t kiss you on Roger’s street!
- Not that!
- I can’t hug you either.
I walk on. Why not go to the freaking college now that I’m already dressed and close by?
I am kind of hoping that you’ve left in your anger. But you’re there before me. I don’t know if I’m happy to see you or not. You say hi like nothing’s happened. I tell you that I want to talk. As we walk side by side, as I tell you that hugging me isn’t a big sacrifice compared to what I do for you, though your face is still cold and composed, you brush your fingers on my hand. It sends a rush of shivers down my spine. Your touches, your hands, always do.
I don’t know how or why, but we’re back together again in seconds. The frozen blood in my veins begins to melt. But it’s going to be a long time before I can feel warm again. I don’t know if my heart, my insides, will ever fully heal.
The class is over now. I like it that you arrange to go rent some movies. You do it because you know I’m going and you want to be with me. I don’t know why we get into a fight though.
I do know why. I need you to be nice all the time. It’s the price you have to pay for the mess you got me into. You find it hard to try though. You think when I’m angry, you have the right to be angry too. But we manage to make it to the video-library in one piece! We get our movies. As we walk out, we are in a better mood.
What you never get is that these better moods are not real. They are nothing but me giving up, me resigning, me not fighting for you anymore, me losing hope, me losing the will to live. I guess you wouldn’t be so happy with these quiet moments if you knew their real meaning after all!
You, in your happy ignorance, suggest dropping me off at the shopping mall. I, being the scared cast-away who hangs on to anything to just keep on floating, say yes.
- Just don’t open your mouth on the way!
- What if I want to say something nice?
But I don’t open my mouth on the way. You try to get me to talk. But I refuse. You even tell me that we can make good friends. I just close my eyes to keep the tears from falling down.
- We do make good friends. We always have.
I can’t agree more. I love the kind of friends we used to be, before you started this story. But I don’t say it, because you hate my used-tos!
I get off your bike with a smile instead:
- Can I open my mouth for something besides talking?
- Sure!
There’s no way you can not know what I’m talking about. So I lean forward, put my hands on your shoulders, and my open lips on yours. I intend to just touch your lips. But with you and I, that doesn’t seem to be an option. With the first touch of my open mouth, you gasp. I’m as good at reading the touch of your lips, as I’m at hearing the look in your eyes! The gasp is partly because you’re not expecting such a passionate kiss, mostly because you’ve missed me and my kisses. It’s lasts longer than I originally planned. It’s your damned gasp. Now I can’t get enough of you…
When I finally manage to tear my lips from yours -no, you didn’t end the kiss- I’m all hot. I’m in love with you again. Any man who can kiss me like that and make me feel that way, he must love me even if he doesn’t know it himself.
- You’re crazy by the way!
- I know. You’d be too, if you loved me enough!
Sorry about that! It’s just one last venomous bite before you leave for the day. Something to remember me by!
At night, as you sit at your place, I’m still there with you, on your mind. You must be feeling pretty low, because even Molly who isn’t overly sensitive to your mood swings can see it:
- What’s your problem now?
- I don’t know. I was just thinking how things could still be hadn’t you sent Stormy those messages.
- Are you blaming me now?
- I’m not blaming. Just wondering. We used to have a great time, the three of us together. And there was a lot more to it. You didn’t have to worry about what was going on between the two of us then, because you were there with us all the time. Now, the moment I get out of your sight, you worry that I might be with her.
- There’s one thing we can do. We can send her a message on her birthday.
- I’m not doing anything. You want to, you do it.
You go on brooding over your lost friendship with me. Molly, like a number of times before, tells you that she doesn’t care about your affairs as long as she doesn’t catch you with your pants down! How can anyone call what you have a marriage, let alone a happy one, I wonder!
I don’t know what you believe, or rather hope, can happen. I’d rather not be naïve. I’d rather accept the fact that Molly and I can never be friends again. Honestly, we were never friends. As you said yourself this morning, a lot of people pretend to love her because they love you. I was the first in that line of hypocrites. I never liked her really. From the very first moment I laid eyes on her. But I was so in love with you, that I tried to learn to like her, to learn to be her friend. It was a bad idea. I would have been better off not having gained her weird trust! Wouldn’t be in this mess without her friendship. If only I hadn’t…
In the meantime, I’m sitting at my place. I’m in so much pain. Body and soul. I don’t see any point in loving you tonight. If love is to hurt all the time, then where do fairytales and happily-ever-after stories come from? Art is an imitation of life. If art can be happy, so can be life. Why isn’t mine?
I still have five cuts from the past few days on my left palm. They’re healing fine. Not much pain anymore. No blood at all.
Not working anymore.
Cutters, as I always tell you, are artists. I’m their master.
I cut my palm five more times. On the same spot. The new cuts cross the old ones. It turns my palm into a pink and red checkered piece of clot. But the red lines cover the pink areas in seconds. Now you can’t see the pattern. My palm is a shiny red piece of pain.
That’s exactly why I keep cutting the same palm. I won’t get scares. And I don’t have to cut too deep for maximum pain. I’m in so much pain. Body and soul. Tonight, I need you like never before. I need you to help me if I want to survive. I need you to help me, either way.
Then I sit down to send you another e-mail:
Spike,
Tonight I'm writing to ask you for help. I hardly ever ask you for anything. You never do anything for me even if I ask. But this time, this one time, I need your help. I won't survive without it.
Make the pain go away. Please. I'm begging you. Make the pain go away. Make the tears end. Make the fever stop. Make my heart go back to its normal beat. Make my world warm again. Make the pain go away. Please...
I don't care what you do. I don't care how you do it. As long as I can breathe without feeling the weight of the world crush me. As long as I can go to sleep at night and not wake up all sweaty and shivering and covered in tears. As long as I can eat and drink and actually hold it in my stomach for half an hour and not throw up my insides.
How do I make you believe me? How do I make you trust me? How do I prove to you that I have no master plans for a future with you?
How do I prove to you that I don't even dream of a future with you?
I just want you for now.
I just want you to be nice. I want my kind considerate Chico back. Or was he ever there? Maybe I just imagined him. Maybe he was just a dream. Hallucinations. I just want you to have a good time, and help me have a good time for the next few months that we can be together. I want our wild sex -can't call it lovemaking after today- and our moments of doing crazy stuff like we are school kids again. I want us to hang out, talk on the phone, laugh at people, and make a million tiny pieces of shiny crystals of memory to keep in our hearts for the rest of our miserable lives. Memories to shine through the dark moments when you're stuck with your bitch on your side of the world and I'm pretending to be happy with my lonely creative life on mine.
I don't want anything else from you. I don't want to give birth to your baby girl to have to raise her alone, or with a father like you. I don't want to marry you to live in doubt forever, doubt if it's because you're STUCK with me that you live with me. I don't want to be your Chica for the rest of my life, knowing that you'll always ignore me and mistreat me and abuse me. I don't want to love you forever to know that it's a one-sided love, have always been, will always be.
I just want a few happy months.
If you can't do it, just say so, so I can figure out what I should do. Maybe I can come up with other options. Maybe I can just kill you and end our misery. Maybe I can just die and end it all...
Tonight, it's the last time, ever, I say or write or in any way express the fact that I love you.
Come tomorrow morning, I'm going to give it all I have, to remedy that worst mistake of all...
Stormy...
When will you read this?
When will you reply?
Will you choose to be there for me this time?
I wonder…
On days like this I hate myself. I hate my life. I hate life. I wish I could hate you. On days like this I just want to go to bed, fall sleep, and never have to open my eyes to the cruel world again. I just want to forget. Forget that I ever met you. Forget that I ever got close to you. And forget that you ever treated me this way. Forget the whole day, and go back to my crooked happy life with you.
I have no intention of attending class today. Give me a break, the stupid exams just ended the other day! But you want to meet. You know how weak I am when it comes to that. You call me to you, I am there for you. I wish I could say the same about you. I don’t even hesitate to think about me. And besides, I know you haven’t noticed, but I stopped asking you to meet me weeks ago. Now I have to stick with what you plan. Since it doesn’t happen much, then I go with whatever you suggest.
So, I’m there in the morning. It’s supposed to be fun. But I’ve been away from you for a long time. Haven’t talked to you. Haven’t met you. Haven’t been in your arms. Haven’t felt your love. I’m needy. And when I’m that, what I do is hide behind a mask of anger. I am angry too. I remember all the things you never do, and all the times you’re never there, and I’m angry.
You’re the insensitive you today. The one who jokes and laughs and doesn’t even see the pain in my eyes. I don’t like you very much today!
- I don’t like you very much today!
- So you tell me!
- Ok. I guess this is it then. I guess I’ve had enough. More than enough actually. All this time, I’ve been fooling myself into believing that you care. It’s been a big lie.
- What’s been a lie?
- Everything. All of it. Every moment you spent with me. Everything we did together. It was a big lie. How stupid of me to believe you!
- Is that a question or a statement?
- You did tell me that you loved me. You know you did. And it was a lie. I have all the proof I need, more than what I need actually, to believe that you care for her. Not for me. You used me to get her jealous, to get her back to you. I hate it that you lied. I hate it that you’re so weak you can’t make a decision.
- Out of everything you just said, I only agree with the part about not making decisions.
- I don’t care. I want out. I’m getting out of your life…
I grab my purse and walk out. My tears are blinding me. I can’t walk. I sit on the sidewalk to cry my heart out. Maybe then I can move on. I’m out of breath, choking, when you come and touch me on my shoulder. I’m longing for you to try to hug me, to say something nice. As usual, you don’t.
You go back to the issues of me, never having believed you. And I still have unanswered questions:
- There’s no way, anyone, in the whole world, can love her and me both. I believe in loving different people at the same time. But it can’t happen with her and me. What exactly is it that you feel for her?
- Well, there are times when I want to bite her head off. And times when I care about her.
- What exactly does it mean I care about her?
- I don’t know. She still cares about me too.
- That’s where you’re wrong. But it’s not my problem. Why did you lie to me?
- I didn’t lie to you. Everything we did or had, it was real.
- It wasn’t. You told me you loved me.
- I don’t love anyone. If I loved her I wouldn’t be with you. If I loved you I would be with you.
This is the last blow. I hope you enjoyed it. My body’s burning on the outside. It’ll burn your hand to touch me. My inside, freaking freezing. Actually, frozen. I feel I will never be warm again. I feel there’s no hot red blood flowing in my veins anymore. It’s ice. Tiny pieces of it. Millions of them. They cut me and hurt me and pierce my heart. They kill me thousands of times a second. Yet they don’t draw blood. You don’t see me die, and die, and die again, in your merciless hands. You don’t see my blood on them.
- I thought you were with me. I believed you were with me.
- How could I have?
- The whole time, I believed you wanted to be there for me and with me all the time, because you loved me. But I thought you didn’t want to go back on your word to her; that you wanted to help her, and that was why you couldn’t leave her. That was why I could feel the smallest degree of respect for you. Now I see it had nothing to do with your moral and noble ideas. It’s simply because you don’t love me!
- Did you really know those things? Did you really believe me? Believed in me?
- Why else do you think I stayed with you?
I tell you that your eyes don’t talk to me anymore. That they never did. That it’s been my imaginations all the time, because I so desperately wanted to believe you. But, it’s a lie. Your eyes still talk to me. Maybe not of love. But they talk.
I know why you don’t love anyone. Because you don’t love yourself.
Today, you tell me that you married out of love and stupidity. With the second I totally agree. The first one, I don’t believe. Love, the sacred love that you and I say we believe in, it never ends in what you share with her now. True love doesn’t end in enmity and misery. True love doesn’t end! But you won’t feel it unless you come to terms with yourself. You have to feel love and respect for yourself first, so you can know you are worthy of that sacred love, then you’ll feel it, for the right person only. It’s in your eyes that you don’t love yourself much.
Your eyes talk to me. They tell me how I’ve hurt your pride today. That’s why I don’t slap you, though I believe you deserve it. They tell me how happy you are at the same time, because I just told you that I believed in you and in your love. If I say it now, now that I’m practically kicking you goodbye, then I mean it. And my heart goes out to you to see that happy amazed young look in your eyes. I’ve never seen your eyes like that with her. That’s one thing that I, and only I, can do for you.
Your eyes, how they talk to me! Your eyes tell me about your doubts. They are a reflection of mine. Am I actually watching my own eyes in yours, or am I truly reading the same question in yours? I don’t know. I guess you don’t mean it for me to see, but you’re not trying to convince me to stay with you, because you’re asking yourself if it will be better, easier, wiser, for both of us, to say goodbye today. I ask myself the same questions. I wonder if it will be best. But I don’t believe it is. Neither do you. You just don’t get on your knees to beg me to stay, because you want to be able to blame me afterwards. When the time comes, you’re going to tell me that I chose to stay, that I was in this relationship of my own accord. It’s your way of not feeling responsible.
Guess what, you will be responsible, no matter what. You took full responsibility for the whole affair on the night our story began.
Do you know what it is that you hold over me? What makes me come back to you all the time? What binds me to you so tightly that I can’t break free no matter how hard I try?
Your eyes.
- You can still prove to me that you care.
- I can’t.
- You can, in about five seconds.
- I can’t kiss you on Roger’s street!
- Not that!
- I can’t hug you either.
I walk on. Why not go to the freaking college now that I’m already dressed and close by?
I am kind of hoping that you’ve left in your anger. But you’re there before me. I don’t know if I’m happy to see you or not. You say hi like nothing’s happened. I tell you that I want to talk. As we walk side by side, as I tell you that hugging me isn’t a big sacrifice compared to what I do for you, though your face is still cold and composed, you brush your fingers on my hand. It sends a rush of shivers down my spine. Your touches, your hands, always do.
I don’t know how or why, but we’re back together again in seconds. The frozen blood in my veins begins to melt. But it’s going to be a long time before I can feel warm again. I don’t know if my heart, my insides, will ever fully heal.
The class is over now. I like it that you arrange to go rent some movies. You do it because you know I’m going and you want to be with me. I don’t know why we get into a fight though.
I do know why. I need you to be nice all the time. It’s the price you have to pay for the mess you got me into. You find it hard to try though. You think when I’m angry, you have the right to be angry too. But we manage to make it to the video-library in one piece! We get our movies. As we walk out, we are in a better mood.
What you never get is that these better moods are not real. They are nothing but me giving up, me resigning, me not fighting for you anymore, me losing hope, me losing the will to live. I guess you wouldn’t be so happy with these quiet moments if you knew their real meaning after all!
You, in your happy ignorance, suggest dropping me off at the shopping mall. I, being the scared cast-away who hangs on to anything to just keep on floating, say yes.
- Just don’t open your mouth on the way!
- What if I want to say something nice?
But I don’t open my mouth on the way. You try to get me to talk. But I refuse. You even tell me that we can make good friends. I just close my eyes to keep the tears from falling down.
- We do make good friends. We always have.
I can’t agree more. I love the kind of friends we used to be, before you started this story. But I don’t say it, because you hate my used-tos!
I get off your bike with a smile instead:
- Can I open my mouth for something besides talking?
- Sure!
There’s no way you can not know what I’m talking about. So I lean forward, put my hands on your shoulders, and my open lips on yours. I intend to just touch your lips. But with you and I, that doesn’t seem to be an option. With the first touch of my open mouth, you gasp. I’m as good at reading the touch of your lips, as I’m at hearing the look in your eyes! The gasp is partly because you’re not expecting such a passionate kiss, mostly because you’ve missed me and my kisses. It’s lasts longer than I originally planned. It’s your damned gasp. Now I can’t get enough of you…
When I finally manage to tear my lips from yours -no, you didn’t end the kiss- I’m all hot. I’m in love with you again. Any man who can kiss me like that and make me feel that way, he must love me even if he doesn’t know it himself.
- You’re crazy by the way!
- I know. You’d be too, if you loved me enough!
Sorry about that! It’s just one last venomous bite before you leave for the day. Something to remember me by!
At night, as you sit at your place, I’m still there with you, on your mind. You must be feeling pretty low, because even Molly who isn’t overly sensitive to your mood swings can see it:
- What’s your problem now?
- I don’t know. I was just thinking how things could still be hadn’t you sent Stormy those messages.
- Are you blaming me now?
- I’m not blaming. Just wondering. We used to have a great time, the three of us together. And there was a lot more to it. You didn’t have to worry about what was going on between the two of us then, because you were there with us all the time. Now, the moment I get out of your sight, you worry that I might be with her.
- There’s one thing we can do. We can send her a message on her birthday.
- I’m not doing anything. You want to, you do it.
You go on brooding over your lost friendship with me. Molly, like a number of times before, tells you that she doesn’t care about your affairs as long as she doesn’t catch you with your pants down! How can anyone call what you have a marriage, let alone a happy one, I wonder!
I don’t know what you believe, or rather hope, can happen. I’d rather not be naïve. I’d rather accept the fact that Molly and I can never be friends again. Honestly, we were never friends. As you said yourself this morning, a lot of people pretend to love her because they love you. I was the first in that line of hypocrites. I never liked her really. From the very first moment I laid eyes on her. But I was so in love with you, that I tried to learn to like her, to learn to be her friend. It was a bad idea. I would have been better off not having gained her weird trust! Wouldn’t be in this mess without her friendship. If only I hadn’t…
In the meantime, I’m sitting at my place. I’m in so much pain. Body and soul. I don’t see any point in loving you tonight. If love is to hurt all the time, then where do fairytales and happily-ever-after stories come from? Art is an imitation of life. If art can be happy, so can be life. Why isn’t mine?
I still have five cuts from the past few days on my left palm. They’re healing fine. Not much pain anymore. No blood at all.
Not working anymore.
Cutters, as I always tell you, are artists. I’m their master.
I cut my palm five more times. On the same spot. The new cuts cross the old ones. It turns my palm into a pink and red checkered piece of clot. But the red lines cover the pink areas in seconds. Now you can’t see the pattern. My palm is a shiny red piece of pain.
That’s exactly why I keep cutting the same palm. I won’t get scares. And I don’t have to cut too deep for maximum pain. I’m in so much pain. Body and soul. Tonight, I need you like never before. I need you to help me if I want to survive. I need you to help me, either way.
Then I sit down to send you another e-mail:
Spike,
Tonight I'm writing to ask you for help. I hardly ever ask you for anything. You never do anything for me even if I ask. But this time, this one time, I need your help. I won't survive without it.
Make the pain go away. Please. I'm begging you. Make the pain go away. Make the tears end. Make the fever stop. Make my heart go back to its normal beat. Make my world warm again. Make the pain go away. Please...
I don't care what you do. I don't care how you do it. As long as I can breathe without feeling the weight of the world crush me. As long as I can go to sleep at night and not wake up all sweaty and shivering and covered in tears. As long as I can eat and drink and actually hold it in my stomach for half an hour and not throw up my insides.
How do I make you believe me? How do I make you trust me? How do I prove to you that I have no master plans for a future with you?
How do I prove to you that I don't even dream of a future with you?
I just want you for now.
I just want you to be nice. I want my kind considerate Chico back. Or was he ever there? Maybe I just imagined him. Maybe he was just a dream. Hallucinations. I just want you to have a good time, and help me have a good time for the next few months that we can be together. I want our wild sex -can't call it lovemaking after today- and our moments of doing crazy stuff like we are school kids again. I want us to hang out, talk on the phone, laugh at people, and make a million tiny pieces of shiny crystals of memory to keep in our hearts for the rest of our miserable lives. Memories to shine through the dark moments when you're stuck with your bitch on your side of the world and I'm pretending to be happy with my lonely creative life on mine.
I don't want anything else from you. I don't want to give birth to your baby girl to have to raise her alone, or with a father like you. I don't want to marry you to live in doubt forever, doubt if it's because you're STUCK with me that you live with me. I don't want to be your Chica for the rest of my life, knowing that you'll always ignore me and mistreat me and abuse me. I don't want to love you forever to know that it's a one-sided love, have always been, will always be.
I just want a few happy months.
If you can't do it, just say so, so I can figure out what I should do. Maybe I can come up with other options. Maybe I can just kill you and end our misery. Maybe I can just die and end it all...
Tonight, it's the last time, ever, I say or write or in any way express the fact that I love you.
Come tomorrow morning, I'm going to give it all I have, to remedy that worst mistake of all...
Stormy...
When will you read this?
When will you reply?
Will you choose to be there for me this time?
I wonder…
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