The other side of that last frame...

 

The other side of that last frame, the one with “The End” written on it, that is where I am standing exactly. Alone, silent, but not numb. I am ridiculously aware of all what happened, the whole story, how my heart and soul were recreated and resurrected several times. Like an ancient Egyptian curse, I survived our tragic saga. I passed through all the phases, and I hated myself several times, loved you again and again, and as I was starting to hate you, just as I was starting, I realized that I lost any feeling, I lost the ability to feel. You took a big chunk of my life and left, I know that you did not literally take it, it just followed you, it belonged to you, and could not stay prisoned in my absent presence.

I am not sending you any messages. I don’t really care about how you see the whole story. It became history, yes, I assure you, it became history. It did not work, and will never work. I can’t wait for years, I cant wait for things to change, I cant wait for you to miss me or consider things again. I lost my ability to love, whether this ability was a talent, an emotion, or even an organ, whatever it was, I lost it. I am still living, neither sad nor happy, but living. I am not looking backward nor forward; I am just living. No expectations of happiness I have to admit, but the good thing is that there will be no possibilities of pain. I have not got my life back, and I know that life will never be the same.

You were my baptism. But I lost myself in the process, physically I am still here, with the same naïve smile, and tired features, but something in me changed forever. I am not whining; I am just introducing my new persona. I have to befriend it, or at least I should not be shocked by its reactions, I mean my new reactions. I will take my time till everything settles properly. Now its time to clear the rubble, pant but keep moving, things will happen, am I not already relieved from the heavy burden of love?

What's more painful....

 

What’s more painful, waiting for a miracle that will never happen or accepting my fate. What’s the point of assessing every single word you say, analyzing every joke and calculating the time you take to answer my lame questions. What’s the point of the whole thing? I’m not sure who I became, too pretentious to be able to move on. I pretend 24/7 that everything is fine, that I can wait for a decade till we reunite, who promised me? 

You were harsh today. Your words, your tone and how quickly you replied, all this rage reached me when I was dying for a breeze of hope. I bored you, I know. I misunderstood your kindness and pretended that my plan is working. You are missing me, you are being nice again, that was what I thought. While you were simply being sympathetic and merciful. None of us is at ease, none of us is enjoying this phase, and none of us is willing to hurt the other, or that is what I hope. 

I desperately need to forget everything that happened between us, and roam foolishly around. It’s over, or it must be over. I have to return to the ruins of my life. Maybe gradually I’ll fit in it again, when you seem like a faint memory of a melancholic melody or an old romantic movie, maybe you will visit me as a half familiar half vague dream. I will always love you and I will always believe that we will never be together and I promise you that I will never surrender to love again.