No vacancy

I think I drove him mad. I think I forced him to run out of patience.
I believe I misunderstood him when he was just being his honest, blunt self. I believe I misunderstood him.
I know I hurt him out of anger.
But all of this happened a year ago.
I made someone who did love me, unlove me. In that process I also lost the first person I have ever loved.
In that time, I lost the only person I love.
In that time, I lost the only person I will ever love.
I don't think I am capable of being in healthy and stable relationships. I know for a fact that whenever someone comes close enough, they will eventually run away because I am sure, I am so sure that I am not normal. I think I'm meant to be on my own.
I think I damaged a love, and that's enough for a lifetime. I don't think I'll ever dare to do this again. I don't think I can ever do this again because even though it's been a year and two days less to two months since we spoke, I still love him like I did the first time I told him back in September 2015 that I love him. I know I will always love him like that today, and every other day.
And I'm sure there won't be space for anyone else again because you see, even though it's been more than a year, he will always take up that space. That seat will always be reserved for him even though he will never come back to take that place again. 

Notes on the self

"Something to do, something to love and something to hope for"

I always thought I would be ok.

One year and 11 days but it still feels like yesterday, despite how it's such a cliche.

I always thought I would be ok.

One year and 11 days ago I began to lose sleep:

One hour for each day; 376 hours of staying awake, waiting, waiting to feel ok again.

Waiting to forget yesterday.

Waiting to do, to love again

Waiting for something to hope for.

Notes from the Self

LALALALALALALLALALALLALALALALDESTROYYOURSELFLALALALALALALALALALALALALADESTROYEVERYTHINGLALALALALALALALALALALALALALA

Three Somethings.

Dear S,

Repeat after me:
"Something to do, something to love, and something to hope for."

Yours.

I always thought I would be okay.

I regret that I was not the one to pen these words

I don't know who wrote this but I found this on Berlin Artparasites and I found myself resonating with and within each word and it hit me suddenly that I have stopped writing, writing in the true sense of meaning...

"I’m not good at words so my love isn’t poetry. It’s silly notes in secret places. It’s pointing out every beautiful thing I see so you can see it too. It’s waiting up hours to hear if you got home safe because I worry about you. It’s in lavender nights and making you tea and waiting for you to come with me to see movies and in telling you the parts of my day that made me happy and giving you every tiny gift I think might make you smile for a second like smooth rocks and cool leaves and it’s in letting you choose the radio station and in us together slowly healing. It’s in small quiet things but I promise. I will love you to the end of my being."
— r.i.d//inkskinned

Minus 9

It's only been nine days since I gave myself 27 days to challenge death, but I'm already drained of every little drop of blood called will in my body to live. I can see myself losing myself to I don't even know what but something other than me is winning, winning by strong margins...  Sometimes I think that something is just another me but who knows?