I hope that each time I tell it, it will hurt a little less. I hope that each time I tell it, there is someone else who can help me out of the hell I've trapped myself in. I hope that I can wake up tomorrow and not think about you, or want you, or regret everything that passed between us.
They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but first the world must shatter you completely, and scatter those parts of you in places you must spend the rest of your life trying to find; all so that you might have a chance at feeling whole again. I'm drained of life, and my own broken shards pierce me, unable to be dislodged, because I find that I am the one pushing them further in. Perhaps my feelings for you will drain out with my blood, upon my hands, upon the ground, the earth devouring the tale written in my red. The stain will never be removed.
I confess that I still watch you sometimes, when your back is turned. I cannot meet your eye; I'm afraid of what I might reveal in a glance. I'm sinking into a pain so numbing that it is obliterating all other feeling. The world no longer contains the joys it once did; laughter does not uplift me as it used to, there is no comfort in an embrace, but nor do tears pour forth. I know the blame does not lie with me alone, and yet I claim it as such, for I cannot let you take it; you are far more fragile than I, despite how it may seem. You do not know of all the times I sacrificed my pride, and hurt myself so that you wouldn't feel any pain. You don't know how much it still kills me every time I think of how I did hurt you.
I should not indulge in these thoughts, or these emotions; they do nothing for me but cause pain. And yet, I cannot help but want to sink more into their oblivion; there is almost a sweetness about it, almost a comfort that there is something which lies dead within me.
I loved you, and now desperately wish that I could stop. It is slowly fading, but the evils of emotion is that they don't fade fast enough. I'm afraid that the only way that I'm going to stop loving you is if someone else comes along and I fall for them instead. That's the main reason I plead for them so often in my writings.
.....I wish it weren't taking them so long.