I told myself I shouldn’t write about you yet here I am, mounting the footsteps and flinging myself off the cliffs of come what may, because sometimes the world gets too much and I need a space to breathe in.
I used to think we were two halves of a whole. Now, I think we were always better off with distance.
The reality is I cannot save you. And I can’t keep fooling myself into thinking that I could; you love your tragedies so much you always choose to bask in them, and I will always try to reach out and keep you from drowning even though I think you’d rather stay in there.
Sometimes the ones we love cannot break us free from the chains that bind us, sometimes we’re the ones who lock them up.
I’ve had enough.
I will stop singing to your symphony of one tragedy after another. I will stop pulling out the weeds whenever you keep planting them. If I keep this up I would drown with you, and I choose to never have to deal with all of this again.
Sometimes, the ones we love leave us when we get too much. Sometimes, we’re the only ones who have to deal with ourselves.
The truth is that our music won’t always go well together. I won’t always be there to wait for you to explode.
I need to save myself too.
I have my own rhythm to face that doesn’t involve you.