When I think of Francis, there\\’s a curse of angry blood that shivers through my arms. There\\’s a sense of sorrow for what I wanted and what I couldn\\’t have. And maybe a sense of self-entitlement. I would like to think that he misled me. I would like to think that he did this on purpose, out of malice and displeasure. But what I can say, there\\’s clarity. There\\’s the moment of pain when you say…well that wasn\\’t for me.<\/p>\n
I knew that it wasn\\’t for me. But my eyes and my heart got torn away. And I knew what a bad idea it was. And I think…well what if. We wouldn\\’t have many similar interests. We wouldn\\’t see the same things. I would compromise myself in forcing myself to like things that I didn\\’t really like. <\/p>\n
When I said to him, \\”You know, I don\\’t even know if I enjoyed much of my time with you.\\”<\/p>\n
It is partly true. Maybe all true. I think how I faked my smiles and how I told myself: this is what you\\’re supposed to enjoy. This is how you\\’re supposed to be an adult. This is what it means. Instead, I felt like I was being someone else. I felt that I couldn\\’t be myself. I couldn\\’t enjoy the sweetness. I couldn\\’t really relish the films, the bitter foods, and the long bike rides.<\/p>\n
The best part of being with Chris is that I never felt that I had to pretend to be anyone else. I could just be me. In my love for gossip, in my love of sweets, my love for seeking meaning. I wonder if I sense judgement really quickly and that I can feel it falling upon me like syrup, tearing down my veins, hurting me.<\/p>\n
It hurts me this pain of Francis. Sometimes I want to erase that whole year away.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
When I think of Francis, there\\’s a curse of angry blood that shivers through my arms. There\\’s a sense of sorrow for what I wanted and what I couldn\\’t have. And maybe a sense of self-entitlement. I would like to think that he misled me. I would like to think that he did this on … Continue reading Time has passed, but has it really<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-555","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/555","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=555"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/555\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=555"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=555"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/j.unoccupied.org\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=555"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}