Vicky

I’m so tired of thinking about you. Truly I am.

I’m reminded of Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, and I find myself wishing I could erase every trace of memory I have of you. Which, funny enough, only makes me think of you more because I watched it for the first time,
With you.

You are woven into every fabric of my being and reality, and it has, as of late, become my own personal hell.
Hell is not a place, but is what you carry, as they say.

I can’t split myself in two.
I can’t pick you off like a scab.
I can’t floss you out of my teeth or scrub you from my tongue.
I can’t buff you out from the wrinkles in my brain.
There isn’t a whitesmith alive who could patch and polish the exit wound you left in this metal heart of mine.

Lately, I feel that my love for you was the anesthetic all along, and you cut with such skilled surgical precision.

This is quite a cynical perspective of intimacy, I know. But when one has openly bled at another’s altar for years trying to mend a trust they didn’t break, and the crows you had lost count of so long ago, err on the side of caution - can you blame me?

I don’t enjoy throwing my sentiments into the bare world for everyone to see.
There is no reprieve nor catharsis found in it.
But there is a small delusional hope and fantasy that one day you might come across my writing, like a message in a bottle, and the realization hits you faster than your heart can drop to your feet.

Wishful thinking, but it keeps a gal going lol.

Nevertheless, I just want to let go of the past already. I think I read somewhere that it takes about 7 years to fully move on from a relationship.
If true, then Feb 2027 is my mark.
Only half a year away. Fingers crossed.