Wanderlust.

I loved you once. I loved our conversations, Your hugs, Your kisses. I loved your stories. The way you would think out loud, Tell me stories. I once loved how much you cared. As they say, all good things come to an end and darling our ending was a long time ago. Conversations got shorter, I marked the absence of your hugs and your kisses. You didn’t tell me stories anymore. You made sure to chose every word carefully and no longer thought out loud. Suddenly, I realized you no longer cared. Shame on me for thinking you were different.

I’m alone a lot. So naturally I’ve gotten used to the dark. I’ve gotten used to the quiet. Being alone is still. Sometimes the stillness is scary.

There was nothing poetic about the pain I felt. It was crying my eyes out at two in the morning and clutching at my chest as I tried to regain my breath because if I let go, I was scared I’d fall apart.

“You think you’re doing okay and then suddenly it’s nighttime and you’re alone and you’re not really sure how to distract yourself anymore.”

It’s weird, you know the end of something that has taken so much time to get over is coming & you’re so relieved that it’s finally here but you still, for some reason want to hold on. Just for one more second, just so it can hurt a little more. After all, this problem has been your life for so long you’re not sure if you’ll be used to being free.