the end of something beautiful

Well, that happened. Turns out the people who criticized our relationship have won. The wagging tongues got what they wanted (even if they didn’t explicitly want it, they certainly didn’t help).

Sure, they’re going to say that it wasn’t ever really love. I’m quite sure that’s going to be the reaction; the way that they are going to try to comfort me. That I was being used, or just ‘convenient’ because I’m here and I ‘can’t’ go anywhere entirely on my own (so I couldn’t drop in unexpectedly, for example). They’re going to say that I shouldn’t be crying or sad over a girl who ‘clearly’ wasn’t ‘right’ for me.

I think I’m only really sad cause I feel that in another life, another place, another time, we could have been so much more. Because together we really made sparks fly. Not all the time, but we did. That and I miss her already.

Usually, after a breakup, or at least an admission of ‘this doesn’t work’, I feel like shit. Sure, it’s the pain of separation and all that, but in the past, this post-break up period usually features a lot of hate-justification (sorry, I don’t know what else to call it). You know, the usual ‘she hated this thing about me so why should I be with her – I’ll be better off without her’ or feeling numb. Strangely, this time around I just feel… sadness and relief. Not entirely relief, to be honest. It hurts like I’ve been stabbed or stung by an electrically charged whip (never been whipped, so maybe that’s just my imagination) but I kept anticipating that something was going to go wrong (partly because we just got so much shit thrown at us from other people and partly because there were times where I annoyed the hell out of her). Now that it’s happened, it hurts but I can’t hate her. Or be angry at her (not for long anyway).

In the past, I worked myself up into such a state that I couldn’t talk to a partner right after a breakup.

Now, I can’t stop myself talking to her. Whether out loud, on Facebook or in my head, I just want to hear her voice. I just want to hug her, to hold her. To make it all okay. I dunno why; maybe cause she’s the first person who even got close to seeing under all my layers, the me without my ‘armour’, without me being able to put distance between us – without me wanting to put distance between us. Maybe it’s cause she’s younger (first time I’ve been with someone younger  all other partners have been either older or same age as me) so in a way, I feel responsible. I felt responsible from the beginning, though; perhaps I truly love her. Maybe I just think I do. Maybe it’s just cause she cried on my shoulder once or twice, and let me cry on hers, so I felt… useful. I felt wanted. I felt warm on the inside. I felt I was home, like I belonged. You know that feeling people talk about, like you’re on earth just to be with this person? Just to hold ’em, smell ’em, kiss ’em, etc? That. Mushy, painful, and probably anti-polyamory (although I fully endorse the idea of polyamory, I’ve never tried it) but it really felt like that. I’m not saying I’ll die without her. I’m not saying I can’t/won’t be happy without her but I don’t want to live without her either. Foolish, I know.

I’ve never quite felt like that before; I probably won’t feel it exactly the same again. Sure, we have issues – with ourselves, with each other, with the world. On bad days, it was shit, utter shit, no? But on the good days, hell, it was fucking poetry. So… thank you for the poetry.

I’ve realised this is probably more damaging to her than it is to me. So I have to let her go. The rest remains to be seen.

[Soppy, innit? This is not to say that previous relationships weren’t important – my experiences have sculpted me more or less into what I am today, so… thanks to all of them.]

This is probably going to smack of some cracked up philosophy bullshit, but I’m going to say it anyway: I’ve realised that people seem to be more moved by sunsets than by sunrises. Maybe it’s cause they make you realise that something entrancing like a sunset does truly end (till the sunrise and the next one, of course).

So here’s a picture of something pretty I found on the Internets:

Image result for sunset northern lights

An image of Aurora Borealis – ‘borrowed’ from the Telegraph newspaper.

Yes, I realise I sound like I just stepped out of a heartbreaking romance. I’ll be ok. Soon. Promise.

This is good. So I tell myself. Pain lets us know we’re alive, right?

I suppose another good thing to come out of this whole thing is that I’ve learnt that writing is my strength. It was the first place I ran to after my surgery, and when it got too much, I came back to it. It brought me back. It brought back the balance (whatever balance that is…). Not writing is bad. Bad for me, and bad for literature (geez, ain’t I modest? 😛 ). Still, whatever other people say about my ‘talents’, I reckon I’m a poet at heart. That’s really, truly, what I do best.

See ya round.



Wow. It’s April.

And I’m still here.

I know, I know, I’ve been really really quiet recently. Well, since January (if I’m not mistaken). I don’t remember the last time I wrote a blog post. Lots has happened – stuff I’m not sure I want to share. I’ve realised things about myself that I might’ve missed completely had certain things not happened. Things like: I occasionally behave like an ass. People forgive me – I think it might be a benefit of the doubt type thing – although I have trouble forgiving myself for things I say or don’t say, things I do or don’t do.

I also realised that writing always helps my mental state. Even when I can’t be assed. I was in a really dark place – anger does that to you, I guess (or do you do it to yourself by yielding to it? A friend of mine claims that you choose to get angry about things, and choose to feel miserable. Of course, this thinking doesn’t help when you feel like shit). Anyway, I had little – or well, nothing – to lose so I decided to give another shot. Although I do have other creative outlets (drawing, playing music, etc.), writing is ultimately irreplaceable. Maybe it’s cause I generally don’t like talking much, so it gets things out my system. Maybe it’s just my way of filtering events.

While on the subject of talking, it seems people are genuinely unnerved by silence. Even in a social setting, if you are the one in the group that says little or even nothing, people seem to perceive this as a bad sign. While in theory I know that being introverted, socially awkward or quiet is definitely not a bad thing, it’s taken a lot of reflection to fully grasp it – mainly because not saying much is treated like a problem. But hey, going out and saying stuff just to make sure people don’t feel uncomfortable is so much better? OK, enough with the sarcasm. I’ve been told I need to stop being so vitriolic when I’m pissed off. Trying to keep it in check; the silence has helped a bit with that. Since I don’t feel the express need to say something or react immediately, I am calmer.

Also, I’ve started reading again. This really feels like an achievement. Giving myself space to read 1 chapter a day – and accepting that there will be days where more than that is just too much for me – seems to have worked. I finished off a book I had started ages ago in Greek and just today started Orhan Pamuk’s ‘A Strangeness in my Mind’.  Will let you know if it’s any good.

Anyhow, I should probably go now. I have to go eat dinner (just some cheese on toast, nothing fancy) and then probably watch a film or continue writing or reading. I just thought I’d drop by and say hello so you don’t think something’s happened to me! I will claw my way back into the writing and blogging game, I promise. Not for you, but for me. After all, why else do it? Doing it for anyone else… would it be worth it?