No one told me how to love someone right. Through years and years of watching romantic films and novels, I’ve been fed the most unrealistic ideals about how relationships should be like. Most of the time I wander around the abyss, not knowing what I’m doing. But I do know this: it shouldn’t hurt as much. It shouldn’t be living in constant fear of being left alone and reduced to dust. It shouldn’t be full of wonder on whether or not you love me back just as much.
(What they said is probably true.)
I’m losing this, I know. I’m on the verge of putting our love on hold for irrational fear. You know what this feels like? The butterflies in my stomach are long dead and they are now replaced by a black hole, eating its way out of my throat. My head is all collisions and doubts, because all I could think about are oceans, oceans, oceans. How there are waves going in and about shores hours away from you and you aren’t near.
It’s not just the distance – it is us. We’re embarking on a path to nowhere, aren’t we? Tornadoes and tsunamis don’t go well together. Even then I already knew you were too far for me to reach. I’m not a part of your life. I’m a guest. I’m only a guest, I’m only a guest.
I can’t stay too long, you don’t need me in here.
I know that you’ll love someone else one day. That day will come: I’ll wake up and it’ll creep out from under my bed, and wash over me like I’ve always known it will. I’ll let my feet touch the floor and it’ll sink in, knowing that this was the day I’ll have to let you sail away into the ocean, leaving me off shore. I’ll make my morning coffee with trembling hands, realizing that I would rather have the oceans and walls, than living life without you at all.
One day, this will all be true.