Right now I’m sitting here, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the words for everything happening inside me. It’s hard to talk about it… Bloody hell, it’s hard to share any of this. When I still had hope, I kept trying to reach you, to prove something, to pour my heart out like writing endless memoirs.
But now… I’ve lost everything.
I’ve lost hope, and I’m trying to hold on to what’s left of myself.
I meditate, trying to silence the negativity: the memories, the thoughts, the feelings. Keep myself busy with anything that makes it easier not to reach out to you, because it would lead to nowhere.
What will change if I write to you?
Why would I write to you?
To become invisible again?
It’s better to endure this pain than to wait for attention or affection that never comes… to hope for love that only leaves emptiness behind.
It brought me to a state where it easier to withdraw entirely than to wait for a message, to plead for love, for closeness, for a meeting…
And receive nothing in return…
Only emptiness…
I don’t wish to let my love die simply because my feelings are being ignored.
I’d rather keep it alive and hold on to the knowledge that I’m capable of loving.
But with you, with the constant waiting for the tiniest hint of attention or warmth - you will destroy that love, and it will turn into hate that lasts forever.