isolated

Your memories are presented with many different faces. Somedays I go to sleep feeling comforted by the knowingness that we shared so many moments together, while others twist the knife deeper than I knew was possible. While I’m still convinced most of it wasn’t real, there’s always a lingering belief that it was. Can comfort in trauma between two people really equate to realness? Are our unhealed wounds actually capable of creating solace that transcends beyond temporary experience? Was it ever enough? Was I fighting for a life that was never achievable in the first place, because it wasn’t real from the beginning? Every emotion within me flares at once when you consume my mind. Ripping you apart, feeling… regardless of what that entailed, just feeling something so deeply.. an emotion so extreme that it pulls you away from reality & becomes the only thing capable of being heard.. I hated you, but I fucking loved you more than I could comprehend. I didn’t trust you, yet I knew that nobody could ever replace me within you.

The part that enraged me the most is that life goes on.. There will be illusionary comfort within others, there will be a false taste of freedom when something new, something different comes into the equation. False chemical rushes that are backed by fictitious conviction are now portrayed as your great new escape.. A chronic state of self destruction & fabrication, manipulating you into believing a new path is the golden ticket to a “victimless” life. From strangers, to lovers, to strangers — The anthem of many; most. The part that gets to me is this pattern will recur, & not everyone will have the same vision as I did.. most don’t care about others unless there is personal gain. I’m far from a hero, but I’m certainly not the villain. We could’ve been more consistent, but our best moments will be insanely difficult to top.

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