“Hey.. What’s up?”
“I just called to say Goodbye.”
“Umm.. Good.. bye?”
“Yeah. Have a nice life.”
I wanted it to be short. I wanted it to be colourless.
Like love. Short. colourless. non existent. Break up call is something where you are supposed to be breaking up, alas.
I was burning inside. Never did I feel a stronger need to know what must’ve happened to her with this (call).
Days passed. Time went on. I spent days working and nights singing and shouting along to phil colin’s “I don’t care Anymore”.
When you are in relation with someone for a good time, everything seems to remind you of that ‘Someone’. Indeed time would heal the wound, but every wound before healing is bound to hurt more. Burn more.
And probably leave a mark.
Love is exactly like wound. Because it feels good to scratch around it. Scratch out good ol’ times.
After some more time, comes the time to stop whining about why did this happen. The Reason. Cause and effects. That time brings with it indifference, a sense of betrayal and remnants of untrust. Comes the time to wish the reality wasn’t this hard to mug. Comes the time to wish reality would be predictable. Comes the time for epic realization, that every relation is bound to fade, every affection bound to evaporate. What matters is time when the tides are gonna hit you.
I have come to believe that my sorrows are the only thing that are never going to leave me.