Imperfection 

I wish there was a way to say what I’m really feeling. But I’m scared of poisoning another soul. The purity of another person is something I don’t want to infect. I’m stuck with this curse of caring and there’s nothing for me to do about it. I’m terrified of hurting someone. I am such a freaking hurricane, how could I do that to another soul? I wish fear and guilt didn’t keep me trapped inside the labyrinth of my messed up mind.

When you lose someone when you have anxiety, your nervous habits will heighten. Your tendencies to retreat with multiply. Your anxiousness will get worse. This person used to be your rock. They used to be the one to stop all the panicking and the fretting.

Every memory of you, every replay of your lips touching mine is playing continuously in my mind. They’re no longer my private fantasies. They’re haunted by the knowledge that I’m the one who can’t let go. The one of our firsts. We did have fun, and I guess we’ll always be special to each other in a sense.

But how do I sleep when I know I will not feel the same magic touch, the same fiery lips that I crave so much? How do I not hurt at the fact that I will never feel that again? Never to look into your eyes or feel your skin against mine, never hold you close when you’re cold. I guess I should be grateful that you’re still there in a way. And who knows? Maybe I have it all wrong.

But it doesn’t change the fact that the you I want so much, the part that I crave like an addict craves his drug, is gone now. And I don’t know what to do. Those memories are ours, but I don’t know how to reclaim them. They’re fresh and oh so vivid. I am getting pushed out of the frame. So I’m lying in the dark, rain from the thunderstorm is crashing steadily against the window with lightning flashing every five seconds.

I just wish you were here. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I wasn’t fighting tears and gasping for breath through the sting. You’re the storm in the dark of my life. You crashed in an shook my foundation and changed everything : the way I thought, the way I felt, the way I lived. You showed me passion and fire. You evoked the want and desperate need to cleanse my soul. You made me laugh, you made me feel. But you were gone now. Our fire is fading. When dawn breaks we’ll be moving on, with gentle raindrops crashing my cheek, stinging my eyes before they blow through to the next life, but I’ll be here, waiting for the next storm, part of me hoping it’ll be you again. My feet stepped away from my world, a walking token of our splendid memories – but my heart, my weak heart, trembling little heart still clings and finds a way to her wherever she goes.

~ Anonymous

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