Saturday, January 21, 2012

Short Sentences

I recently heard a song by The Civil Wars called "Tip of my Tongue."  It make me think of all the things on the tip of my own tongue that I am dying to say.  So, here they are (all the things I wish I could say but I cannot).

These are the words stuffed inside of me:
  • It was so good to see you.  I've missed you so much.  I can't wait until I get to see you again.  You will always have the most precious place in my heart and I will forever care deeply for you in ways I cannot comprehend.  Be good to yourself and know that you are always unconditionally loved.
  • I miss you, so much.
  • How long am I going to have to wait?
  • What's wrong with me?
  • Are you thinking of me too?
  • I wish someone would say to me: what do you need right now?
  • Why does my heart long and ache after things it cannot have...
  • You are so cute, and I, in unknown ways, adore  your idiosyncrasies and wish you found me half as interesting as I find you to be.
  • How can I be crying when I have so much?
  • You were wrong.
  • I can't see you anymore.
  • I miss your friendship, but know we can never have it back, and it's sad.  You were a great friend to have and wonderful guiding light when I needed it the most.  At the end of the day, you are selfish and I know we can never be friends again because of it.
  • I miss you, so much.
    i miss you, so much.
    i miss much.
  • There's this song I listen to, just because it's the only thing that make me feel like someone else understands.  It's called "Someone I Used to Know."  It says something like
    "Now and then I think of when we were together
    Like when you said you felt so happy you could die
    Told myself that you were right for me
    But felt so lonely in your company
    But that was love and it's an ache I still remember..."

In reality, most days and times and moments I am happy and loved and feel extremely blessed, and really honestly couldn't ask for more.  I just wonder if I ruined the best thing I ever could have had in a relationship. I wonder if I will ever get that feeling back and if I will ever be in the kind of relationship I was in before.  I wonder if there is someone else like that out there for me.  I wonder if I would have even been happy in it, or if I am fantasizing about how great it was.  Then I think about the fact that he has a girlfriend, and I think that I am stupid for letting myself even think about him.  And, then sometimes I wonder if he will read this blog and see what I write and wonder if it is about him.  Some of it is, and some of it is about other people or other things or other situations.  But right now, it's about him.  The him I can't have because he is elsewhere, literally and figuratively.  It really has been hurting me lately to think that he is out there living his life and loving his girlfriend and moving on with his life, while I am here wondering if I am ever going to be fulfilled.  Sometimes I wonder if he longs for me or misses me the ways that I miss and adore and love him.  Then I remember that he doesn't want to be with me, and I realize that he can't feel the way I do, and he even told me he doesn't love me like I love him, mostly because (as he said) he is incapable of feeling about anyone the way I feel about anything because he just doesn't have the breadth of emotions that I do.  Regardless, he can't feel even nearly what I feel about him, because there would be no other way for him to continue to fake being happy with the wrong person, if I was in fact the right one.

I'm trying to move on.  Really I am.  I am doing everything I know how to do to move on.  But my soul is calling out his name.  Saying "wait"  just "wait" he will come back.  My whole being is telling me that I need to wait for him, and things will be better again someday.  My whole soul is telling me, from some unknown place that he is the one and that it is meant to be.  The story is to great, and the destiny has been written in the stars for far too long for it not to mean something more than just this.

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