The story did not end

 

I’m a big liar. The story did not end. I still love you as profound as I did long ago. I’m just tired and lost. I thought that I can quit, simply quit and distract myself by the endless absurdities of life, but it wasn’t possible. I played all the possible mental games, I gave my love mediocre names, longing, habit energy, missing, … but no, what I feel is just pure love. 

During that short period when I thought that I was done, I experienced an eerie feeling of emptiness, it was both overwhelming and underwhelming. I was insomniac but I slept. I didn’t have any appetite but I ate. I wasn’t able to say a single word but I communicated with others. Isn’t strange how love shapes us? I can admit that I became more empathetic, more understanding and more accepting. I understand now why people commit suicide, why do they suddenly leave and why do they dreadfully age. Maybe they force themselves to end their love stories, they unplug without realizing that it’s not a love story anymore but a crucial part of their existence. Now I know the taboos, or that is what I assume. I will accommodate all the mood swings, I will bear the pain alone, I will be silent and move on. If this doesn’t work then I will scream, cry and complain. As you can see the plan is that there is no plan. I’m not sure of anything except that I love you, and I can’t let this love fade away.