11/1/2013

9:20a.m.

I don´t know what i´m doing right now. It seems as if my writing can bring you back; but it´s not like that. It´s a whole different retrospective from all inside out. There are days where i wanna talk to you, tell you about my day and listening to your soft voice and laugh and that "mmmhmmm" that you infected me with. I can´t stop writing, i can´t stop this suffocating pain that sometimes zones me out and it seems that it wants me to dragg myself along. But i have to move on. I have to keep my mind focused, otherwise i´ll bleed out and get stuck in the past. I´m agreeing to let you go and be ok with that. I really want to. It´s not that i´m gonna die if you´re not here; you still have a soft spot in my so called heart (in fact is an organ or muscle, that bombs or spread blood through the whole organism). I still love you, i´m being completely honest. And trust me that i wanna cry so hard that i wanna dry out and sleep. But i can´t do that to myself. Did you know how tremendous you´ve been to me? Did you ever know that you were my first love? Not crush or hook up, but love. That scary feeling that makes you feel disabled and you cannot move, and your joints are crushed and your chest is fighting an inner battle and it´s trying to survive. Well, you´ve made me feel that way billions of times and trust me, to be an unexpresive person, i felt too much for my own good. 

My thoughts are starts i cannot fathom into constellations. Yes, that´s how i´m in right now. You taight me lots of things and also, i stopped pitying myself and not accept simpathies of people, it makes look way too fragile and i don´t wanna do that. You left so much to remember you with. So much. These letters, all the memories, that even though they´ll stay behind, those things are more than enough, trust me. Sometimes i get through mood swings that it seems i´m on an everlasting menstruation to make it look more dramatic. You´d never understand why i broke it off; why i´m not fighting, why i´m not looking for you any longer, why i´m not trying to make them see that we could last. But here, between us, we were dying, we got so distant from each other, we couldn´t possibly save no matter how many "i´ll work on that", "We´ll get through it" we´d say. 

Slowly and painfully, i´m letting you go. After all, that´s the thing about pain; it demands to be felt. 

Ymli, Letters to Oliveira.