It may have slipped my mind

Death. Sometimes brutal, sometimes natural endings. When I picked this card, I knew that you and I weren't ending. But something about us is. I've felt it coming, there is nothing to deny. The pain I've felt from being in your life has surpassed the joy. It's causing me distress. Speaking of which, it's rendered me non-productive and I can't allow that. Even if I would still drop everything if given the chance, just to be with you. something tells me it would be worth it.

There is too much suffering.

This won't qualify. It's over.

Whatever comes next is up to us. As in: it's entirely up to you, don't you let me lose you this way. I'm fading out. It's loud - right at you - my heart is being loud and you, surely, are hearing it and playing silly while I die a little more each day. So much drama. so.much.drama. You said this, I said that. And above all, what you DIDN'T say. It's killing me.

This is a part that I'm letting go of, I'll burn it with my journals when the time comes.

Still, if I didn't think of messaging you a thousand times today, I didn't think of it at all.

Il faudra quand même

J'ai décidé d'avancer, de te laisser continuer de me briser le coeur, à répétition, pour y faire de la place, parce qu'il continue de gonfler et d'apprendre à battre un peu trop fort à chaque fois. We should be lovers.
Not even, I don't know what we should be. I'm in love with you, it's obvious, everytime you speak or dance with someone else, I cry inside. It's the worst cliché I've ever been, there must be a reason. Or not. Just live. Love and be loved. You're so light, it's burning through my soul. I see your cravings, we are soul mates, I used to be you, you are me we are love, love is all we are what we are what I am, love is what I am. I know you can't be what I want you to be. That's why I'm going to let you break my heart, so that it doesn't happen again for the same reason, with someone else. I'm gonna let you break my heart. I'm gonna let you break my heart. 


It will heal.

Unreal

I haven't been writing in a while. I mean, days. Days that seem like forever. It's like I've dried up.

And I miss you. 

That's the only thing that goes through my mind right now. That, and

(I wanna die. I really miss you.)

how pathetic some people are when their heart is broken.

I've disconnected.

I hate that the only time I can write is when my gut is cut open and bleeding.

Please make it stop.

I'd rather not write than to stay alone.

Your eyes, your smile, your skin. All this will fade away and,

I can't stand it.

I wish you would read between the lines.

I wish you had those kind of feelings for me.

But you don't. 

And all I can think about is how fucking unreal my life is, that I go from talking to you everyday to being a complete stranger. I bet you would have a hard time recognizing me, have you even met me ?

Oh please.

And how I second guess everything I say, and how the only way I can be sincere is by letting it all slip.

please...

That's it.

Sunday Dreaming

The life I want is a life of sweet discoveries melted with chocolate berries and laughter.
The life I want is holding our child, our hearts beating in synch, explosion of happiness that takes your breath away.
The life I want is creativity, craziness, beautiful imperfections and your smile to wake up to in the morning.
The life I want is traveling anywhere in the world knowing that I will be safe when you hold me.
The life I want does not forget to dance in the kitchen, to eat ice cream at night, to run in the rain, to laugh until it burns.
In my life I will open my heart to the world, I will share my talent, I will shine, I will ROCK.

I was hoping you'd come along with me but you ain't here.

And

Sunday night aren't the same...
without you.

Alive

The sole thought of flying under the big top was keeping her awake. She'd dream of movement her body could not even recreate before a lot of pain and practice had walked her days.

But she was alive. Oh very well alive and ideas were bursting through her.

Cause baby you're a firework.

Essay

She was siting on her wooden chair, gazing an obscur spot on her room's white walls. She would never admit she was thinking of him again, nor she would agree on the fact that waiting for his call at this time of the night was not only foolish but nearer to something more frightening, something closer to madness.

Still, she was. Perhaps if that would have been the only thing she was yearning for, she could have coped with it. But there was another call she was awaiting, and since she couldn't rely at all on her reason at this time of the night, there were only faith and prayers left in her fussy mind. And those, as proven many times before, weren't making a good blend.

Some would have said she was just...

--
To be continued...