Unrequited Love

Did He Give Up On Me

Shared by asouthafricanvegetarianinkorea.

I love because I live.
I live because I love.

Love is a beautiful/ terrible thing. It has ensnared mankind since the beginning of time. It is life’s greatest drug, with the best high, and the severest descent.

The day he left was the day the music stopped. Or rather that was the day I wanted it to stop. Every sound, every movement in the world, every semaphore of life was an excruciating experience. It was all so loud and intrusive. The whole world was caving in but no one noticed. No one saw the widening cracks in life, or the pressure on my sanity. It was vicious, like a pack of wolves ripping flesh off the bones of some poor helpless animal that had not seen it coming. My heart was broken yet still breaking, it had happened and was still happening: an ongoing nightmare which had spilled over into the waking world.
There is nothing more painful in this world than the loss of love. Whether by accident such as death, or due to choice it is never easy.

One could argue that the pain caused in the latter outdoes the pain of accidental loss. Someone choosing to be rid of you invokes feeling of insufficiency and inadequacy which in turn bring a sense of self loathing. It is cruel that we experience such intense pain. But if we didn’t, happiness would cease to be as well.

I loved him. It is true, and I allowed him to use me as a floor rag. I didn’t notice at the time. I was in love. He was intelligent, handsome, intoxicating in every way. My knees went weak at the thought of him. He did things to me which cannot be described in words.

No one had ever outright said that they disapproved, although there were so many signs from the get go that it was a bad idea, I should have realised. I happily and stupidly ignored them. I wanted him and I got him. Fuck bad signs they would not get in my way.

It was good, I thought at the time, but in truth I was the play thing. His power over me rendered me half the woman I was/am. I was abiding and weak.

Seven months later I was curled up on the hard stone floor, clutching the hole in my chest that expanded with each moment of being. I was getting sucked into it and there was no escape. Who knows how long this lasted. Days passed, weeks maybe.

I had somehow managed to pick myself up off that floor but the feeling of stone on skin surrounded me. It was in the air, in the water, in my bed, in my heart.

It was another woman. It had always been another woman, since we had started. Since before we had started, but he had strung me along anyway as a plaything whilst he waited for the prude to give in. As soon as she did I was tossed aside. He didn’t even have the balls to tell me, I found out through a friend who thought I had known. Or just felt bad enough to tell me, her reason and excuse I no longer know.

He and that very same woman are engaged now. When I found out, I almost expected myself to be hurt, but I didn’t care. I found it ridiculous instead of hurtful. It will never work. Maybe it will. Maybe I am still the jealous ex.

Regardless, I will continue to love.

I love because I live.
I live because I love.

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