single.
I have done it. It is ended. I feel like an amputee. I cannot even mourn my loss, because I am still in shock. Such loss. Such suddenness. Ironic how it was our anniversary. Ironic how we were just chatting gaily earlier in the day.
Despite the calmness of the storm, it is a storm nevertheless. How long will it be before I recover? Will I give my heart out as freely again?
I had always thought that she would read my blog. I had thought that by placing words meant for her eyes here, some of it will get through. But I err. She does not even care enough of me to read. It had been an act of charity right from the start. She had never envisioned herself falling for a beggar. Perhaps this is what she sees me as, a beggar of sorts.
It riled me that she'd rather read the blog of others. It riled me that my words have fallen in vain. It irked me that she was always uncontactable. But now it all matters no more.
She is history. She has left my life, after ripping out my heart. When the blood ceased its flow, when the pain numbs the body and when the wounds start to heal; I will live on. So long I have lived without true love, and when I got it, my heart gets ripped out. So long had been flippant and playful. When I try to be serious for once, I get chargd with all previous crimes unpaid.
Retribution, to have my heart grounded thus. Retribution, to be inflicted with the pain I inflicted on others. I should have noticed it a long time ago, when I spotted the similarities. The glitch in that matrix should have had me wisen up and hardened my heart. I treated others as novelty. Now I am treated as such. An act of charity. No wonder she changed her stance around me. No wonder she waived me from her usual standards. Novelties are expected to fail, so they are given concessions to even qualify. I gave such concessions, I would noe. Retribution indeed.
This is miserable. Till now, i hope she would be reading this. Till now the spark remains on my part. Had she really made a beggar of me, that I would crave more but never get? Or was I a beggar all along, and she was kind enough to give me a scrap of love.
All this time, when all I craved for was a simple "i love you", I got angry words or nonchalance. She did not understand that I would not care if she works 20 hrs a day, if she cannot meet at all. All I need to know was that she'd mine. A simple "i love you" would have sufficed. But that was never given. she traded in time instead. She gave me her precious time and presence, out of charity. Diluted time, that was spent thinking of work anyway. I would have rather heard an " I love you" and sent her home. I got neither. She asked why thinks started turning funny. It strted when she stopped saying "i love you". It started because I noe when she stopped that, it meant she feel that she'd lie if she says it. Charity can only go so far. Lies can only blind up to a point. Was there any actual love? Or was it faked all along? Faked to humor a novelty. Like how I used to fake enjoyment with past novelties.
This, I would never noe. All I feel is the pain. The anguish. Mind numbing. Heart stopping. Physical pain. Retributed.
Childishness besets my pain driven mind. I have retired to statistics! what I have shown.:
To date: 47 messages from her. 107 from me to her. Statistically proven, she want nothing to do with me.
Despite the calmness of the storm, it is a storm nevertheless. How long will it be before I recover? Will I give my heart out as freely again?
I had always thought that she would read my blog. I had thought that by placing words meant for her eyes here, some of it will get through. But I err. She does not even care enough of me to read. It had been an act of charity right from the start. She had never envisioned herself falling for a beggar. Perhaps this is what she sees me as, a beggar of sorts.
It riled me that she'd rather read the blog of others. It riled me that my words have fallen in vain. It irked me that she was always uncontactable. But now it all matters no more.
She is history. She has left my life, after ripping out my heart. When the blood ceased its flow, when the pain numbs the body and when the wounds start to heal; I will live on. So long I have lived without true love, and when I got it, my heart gets ripped out. So long had been flippant and playful. When I try to be serious for once, I get chargd with all previous crimes unpaid.
Retribution, to have my heart grounded thus. Retribution, to be inflicted with the pain I inflicted on others. I should have noticed it a long time ago, when I spotted the similarities. The glitch in that matrix should have had me wisen up and hardened my heart. I treated others as novelty. Now I am treated as such. An act of charity. No wonder she changed her stance around me. No wonder she waived me from her usual standards. Novelties are expected to fail, so they are given concessions to even qualify. I gave such concessions, I would noe. Retribution indeed.
This is miserable. Till now, i hope she would be reading this. Till now the spark remains on my part. Had she really made a beggar of me, that I would crave more but never get? Or was I a beggar all along, and she was kind enough to give me a scrap of love.
All this time, when all I craved for was a simple "i love you", I got angry words or nonchalance. She did not understand that I would not care if she works 20 hrs a day, if she cannot meet at all. All I need to know was that she'd mine. A simple "i love you" would have sufficed. But that was never given. she traded in time instead. She gave me her precious time and presence, out of charity. Diluted time, that was spent thinking of work anyway. I would have rather heard an " I love you" and sent her home. I got neither. She asked why thinks started turning funny. It strted when she stopped saying "i love you". It started because I noe when she stopped that, it meant she feel that she'd lie if she says it. Charity can only go so far. Lies can only blind up to a point. Was there any actual love? Or was it faked all along? Faked to humor a novelty. Like how I used to fake enjoyment with past novelties.
This, I would never noe. All I feel is the pain. The anguish. Mind numbing. Heart stopping. Physical pain. Retributed.
Childishness besets my pain driven mind. I have retired to statistics! what I have shown.:
To date: 47 messages from her. 107 from me to her. Statistically proven, she want nothing to do with me.
posted by Zachary Shim | 10:48 am
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