[Disclaimer: Some essays/stories that are written are fiction so it’s up to you whether or not you believe that it’s true or just a spur of the moment inspiration to write.]
I’m writing about you again. Fuck I think I’ve been writing about you for so long that it became a habit. Every potential verse is a message for you, every stanza is about how you’re breaking my heart and every word is explaining how much I can’t let go of you. Is moving on really that difficult?
I’ve been through high school; unrequited love is just another walk in the park for me. How can you be any different from all of them? What makes you so special?
I’ve been asking myself that question for a year still wondering how I let myself fall this far for someone who will never be mine.
Well it’s mostly my fault why I’m in this situation. I had opportunities to tell you how I feel yet I’m a victim of cowardice.
I don’t want your memory in my head, no, I want you here with me… (The Killers; Here With Me)
I’ve spent a summer trying my best to get over you only to spend the first few weeks hung over with the thought of you. I craved for your conversations and your smile. I almost forgot the sound of your voice but the moment I woke up from my summer fall, your name rang in my head. I was looking for you. I am still looking for you.
I keep on running back to you, no matter how many times you’ve turn away without knowing how much that aches. The bitter taste of words that were never said rest on my tongue. Every song is the same ones you know, I hate that it tethers us closer but not enough.
I hate these stupid metaphors. I can’t say anything straight without trying a little too hard to be poetic. You’re the reason why I’m able to spit them out!
You’re that painful inspiration. I loathe you and I love you.
There I said it. I am in love with you, more than you know.