I am sitting here, struggling. I am here, a version of me stabbed me, took a part of me away. But it was in sympathy—because death is much easier.
My eyes become wet when I am still, looking at what was. Those things called emotions feel like rope. They are tying me to some stand and I am having trouble walking away. They yank at my insides over and over…tricking me making me feel that there is hope soon, but there isn\’t.
Oddly enough, it isn\’t like the last few times of breakup. I don\’t know if it\’s because I am more stony and jaded now. Alan msged me after more than 6 years (since 2007??) to ask me if he could ask me a question about usability. He was my first and I remember how horrible it was. How I couldn\’t walk through Berkeley without a dark cloud above my head. I wanted to cry all the time, with my sunglasses on. I wanted to die so badly, but my sister saved me. She was there, to take my photos down and replace them with her artwork.
And there it is. I am just waiting until the pain goes away. I wonder if I made a mistake. Did I? Am I missing him or just missing what he has done for me?