It takes so much time to finally get to a point where you can admit you were wrong. The whole time. You were wrong believing things could get better with the people who have, in the end, caused you all the suffering.
Of course we take some part of the blame.
Of course each of us played a role in hurting each other.
But who has suffered the most? Has this become now some sort of a race? Who cries the most, who doesn’t not eat, who doesn’t go out?
I heard people are asking about me.
I also heard people talking about you.
That you are better now and you moved on. Your life is way better than it was before.
Ignorance is bliss, after all.
We can pretend we never knew each other and perhaps that would be easier.
Only if…I didn’t have the memory of an elephant who remembers the most absolute unimportant shit. Including you sending flowers. Including us eating together. Sleeping next to each other.
I stopped at some point waiting for fairy tale romances.
I stopped waiting for happy endings, especially when every story would end too fast.
I hate being lonely but have no issue being alone. I have been disappointed so many times, that it doesn’t even come as a surprise when another one walks out of that door.
And I guess it makes it easier. To always expect to lose someone, to always keep that fucking door a little bit open, just in case you are the one that needs to leave the room.
There is no room for me in many places, that’s why I decided to be here and nowhere.
I long for a home I can return to and feel at peace, safe, welcomed, but that home is nowhere near to be found.