The Agony of Wonder

Why I Cried?

When reminiscing us, more often I remember the good times. The times you made me smile, all the times we laughed and kissed and the blissful feeling of being in love.

Too often I forget how miserable I often was with you. And when I do take time to remember this, it is warm and comforting. All the confusion and what-ifs and cognitive dissonance goes away because everything makes sense. We needed to end because too often you were an ass hole. And that was not a bitter exaggeration, that was a widely accepted fact by my mother my friends, some of your friends and eventually you. Maybe not an ass hole to everyone, but you knew how to be one to me.

One day you could be engaged and caring, the next you would be so indifferent, you were too busy to do anything, you had a million reasons for everything and got frustrated from all my "complaining."

"If you're so unhappy, leave my bitch ass."

About my "complaining"... I think we went on a total of like 7 dates (or less), none of which you initiated and only one of which you treated me during our whole five-month not-relationship. You claimed to like me so much and promised of a time where we could be happy and together, but in the meantime, you had no time to hang out and sometimes not even to talk on the phone. I always had all the time in the world for you, because I was so eager to make it. You were like sugary candy to a little kid. I just couldn't get enough even if it was bad for me.

I also "complained" of your insufficient chasing of me, apathy and inconsistency. You always had a great explanation for all these things. You talked about your desirelessness, your detachment from earthly things, intentionlessness and your celestial self. There was always some deep great sounding reason for everything.

And whenever I got frustrated to the point of wanting to leave (like every other week) you had the words to real me back in. You wrote me so many letters apologizing and telling me how much you loved me or how special we were. I'll never forget you said, "I really don't want to lose you."

How ironic is that now? What did that even mean? You didn't want to lose me yet you abandoned me?

➴

Sometimes we just could help not being mad at each other anymore. I remember one time it got so bad that you told me.

"If you don't like the way I treat you, then leave me the fuck alone."

I took that really literally and I just stopped talking to you after a day of it sinking in. I moved seats and you seemed to be confused by that. I remember I had a rehearsal with you and your brother that Friday and I felt super awkward about it because I had to ride home with you two. But by the end of that day, you told me your feelings were on fire for me and the next day I was back in love more than before. I got turned on just from looking at you. I wanted to sit on you, and kiss you and make love to you so bad. It burned in my chest and the fire roared bigger, brighter and hotter every time I looked at you, spoke to you, heard your voice or felt your touch.

When you were not saying the wrong ones, you had the perfect words to say,

"I knew things would always work out with us."

"One day we'll have our time."

"I wish you could come over right now."

"I know, I just know there will be a time where I'll be ready, and our lives will be ready and we can just be together, very soon. I know it's coming. Trust me."

You said things like this all the time... so often that I began believing it, even against my intuition.

I remember taking one week break from you and how much I missed you. And how I would eventually succumb to sitting back next to you. You were an addiction. I knew you were bad for me. It didn't take long for me to realize that, but you always knew how to real me back in, and when you didn't want me anymore, I was already helplessly addicted. I couldn't help it. I couldn't leave you, even if I wanted to. I could never give up on you and I could never get over you. I believed that with all my heart.

I became desperate. I would do anything to make things work with us. I would swallow the mistreatment, inconsistencies, and my own standards... for you. And the percentage of the time you actually wanted me back, which was usually 50%, started waning. I just became more and more desperate as I felt you slipping from my grasp until I started trying to let you go, and you finally were all the way gone.

And now I still cry. And for so long I used to be so ashamed of crying over you. I felt so pitiful and stupid like I should have known this would happen and that I should have never trusted you. I would cry in private. I didn't tell anyone. I would go to my room and close my door and cry. I did this so may days. So many days I walked on a tight rope, trying not to fall into my never-ending pit of pity and sorry because of you and you have no idea. You've probably never ever cried for me. But I've cried over you so many times hundreds of times.

And when I did tell you I was hurting you often blamed me, "All pain comes from desire. That's your choice."

As if I could choose to fall in love. Can you choose whether or not to fall in love? Because for me it just fucking happened and I couldn't control it and I didn't regret it. It was like being swept away by the sea. It was too powerful to resist and it was too beautiful to want to.

I still have dreams about you and sometimes I tell you because I haven't quite gotten out of the habit of wanting to tell you everything. In those dreams you're you I wish you always were, but only got to see on the good weeks and blue moons. Sometimes those dreams make me cry because they make me remember a true love that wasn't true.

Sometimes I cry and cry, and cry my heart out, and let it bleed through poetry and art and hang it up to dry and hope someone can admire it. Or hope some doesn't feel as alone as I did because of me or uncover some of the untalked about stuff that everyone goes through so more people like me don't have to feel ashamed or alienated.

And so I still cry, to this day, because I lost the most beautiful thing I ever had, which for the record was not you, it was the love we shared, or at least what I thought we did. And that's fucking worth crying over. So I am no longer ashamed. I don't give a fuck. I don't give a fuck if you think there's nothing else to talk about, that I should have been over it by now if you think I'm weird if the whole school thinks I'm weird if the whole world thinks I'm weird. I could be the only weird person on the planet, and at least I'll be honest, not burying my pain, but wearing it. So I'll let high tide, run down my face --because the hole that was left in my heart for the rest of my life, for as long as it's still there and it still hurts-- unashamed. One day, I'll walk up to you and tell you how it still hurts and cry in front of your face-- unashamed. Because the same true love we all chase that's worth living and dying for, is damn sure worth crying for when it's gone. Unashamed.

Why I cried?

Why wouldn't I? Why would I ever stop?