Diary Of A Break-up

immediately afterwards

Nothing is so profound as the wish for another.

The desperate yearning and need and panting whimper of the heart to absolve itself into the wishes and needs of another.

No pain is so great as when that need, having been fulfilled, is relinquished and your emotional vocation retrenched.

Were there a simplistic idealisation of this, it would sing in harmony with self-loathing and dysphoria. For the love of one self is, after puberty, tragically amounted to the loved recieved by others.

I am the body and mind of a young girl. Woman, she rejects for no adult should feel so profoundly and so keenly the rejection. I should not be so despairing or mistaken. I am however, but this girl.

This dumped girl.

I feel myself blossom inside the pain. The long forgotten parts of my contained sadness and rage burst forth with righteous indignation. Why me? While the reflective knowledge of adolescence shakes it's head and asks only: again?

The ramifications of the words, misspelt, lovelessly typed: I'm nt in love anmore. Chase each other around the vortex of blackness. In short it stuns me.

But through text? With no warning? Were we that unhappy?

Apparently.

The blindness must clear
This was not part of my plan.
And yet there never was an 'our' plan. You never gave me the chance.

You absolved yourself of me. And I let you go.

They say you will return. God knows I hope not.