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Letters
The letters appear on my screen one by one. Secretly each one of them kills me inside a little bit. The girl inside of me, the naive litte kid that was still hoping that all of it, one way or another, would be okay, is really giving in right now.
Those letters are right in front of me, but they don't get through. I ask one question after another, to convince myself that it's real. That it's not a joke. That it's definite. That I can forever push all hope out of the way.
I have to go. Get out of this place, get away from everything. In pure despair I text my friend, and he's coming. No, he's not. He's bitching me. I didn't just lose you, but also him, I feel it. I feel it from the letters in his message. "Get over it." I can't. "Find a reboundgirl." Got one. "I'm scoring." I'm not. I'm losing.
Oh no, he's coming. My mum's up already and sitting next to me on the ground while I throw it all out, cry, hate, complain. I hate not hating you. I didn't know Stifler told truths. I hate it to not hate you and I hate myself because I hate not hating you. Because I want to hate you. Because hate somehow makes the pain more bearable. Because when the hate's gone, so is the pain. I know. But I don't hate you. I hate myself. I hate myself for all the chances there have been. For how easy I've been. For how vulnerable I've been. For how sweet I've been. For the fucking fact that I love you.
He's standing on the doorstep and I throw all of my anger out of me. Against him and against you. But only against him. Depressed, we drink all of the wine and port that we can find at the time being, we just hang around on the couch and cry our eyes out. Then we move towards his house. J's coming over too. The three of us drink even more beer, cry, lach, and somehow I manage to smile. I fall asleep with my head on his tummy.
I wake up because of my own tears. I text a few friends and turn my phone off. I don't want to be disturbed. My folks've got his number. If they have to reach me, they will. But not right now, please. Because I hate myself at the moment. Me and everything around me. I want to throw, scream, kick, hit and run. I want it all, everything as long as it clears my head. As long as it makes me hate. As long as it makes me feel exhausted.
And he falls asleep behind me. I don't have the heart to wake him. Why would I? What stuff did talking ever solve? Words often ruin things even more. Letters ruin everything. It takes a night to hope, even though that hope is based on nothing. It takes a second to destroy a thought. And now all I wonder is how long it'll take me to get myself back together.
But I think it's about
Forgiveness, forgiveness.
Even if, even if
You don't love me anymore.
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