In my head lives an echo of unfinished thoughts. I am experiencing an extended grief of its very own kind. Love or what i thought was love - has always had its way with me and I am much much older now but it is still so hard, even harder in some ways because i know better but have yet to do better. I know that this is the end of a very long cycle of feeling unseen, and lonely, and either abused or neglected. neglect is strange cause I never saw it that way, I tried to make it ok. I thought that because I wasn't being hit or yelled at or cussed out that I was being treated better. But I simply traded in one form of abuse for another. To love someone actively, fiercely, and to make the sacrifices I've made the losses that I endured, and to have that met with a simple lack of presence is so confusing. On one end they didn't technically do anything wrong, but when I am honest with myself are they ever here? The time we spent in the same spaces was so little in comparison to the length of our relationship but they felt so so good, so good that I overlooked how I was in this practically alone. And there was just no way that i could ever be loved out in the open. That would require for them to admit and face the hurt and dishonesty we participated in. And the crazy thing is i don't regret our decision. What I do regret is compromising my own truth to help them save face. If it was up to me nothing would be left unsaid. It feels insane and wild and oddly righteous to make a decision that most people would look down on you for and still be able to agree with yourself that you are ok with it. and i am ok with it, because this is the greatest love I have felt thus far. I am angry that I may never be able to tell its story. And that no one will ever truly know or understand who I was to him, what I gave, how I nurtured, how I was able to pry a sealed heart open. It closed on me again but it was once open and I will never be able to tell its story. I started painting because I thought that maybe I can get this grief out of me another way. Maybe it would serve me to try a medium thats less verbal and more sentient, much like my lover and it feels so nostalgic when I paint, each painting like the moments of affection that came few and far between. but that is me still thinking of him of honoring our ending in a way that he might one day see and understand and maybe then, grasp the capacity to which I love him. but once again, what about me? I left myself alone just as much as he did. Even in expressing my own pain I still try to include him but my pain is mine and his is his.
((((((((((((((((((((I'm using the word love so much because I know what i felt and gave was exactly that and I don't know what else to call it, dare I say it wasn't love that he felt for me he might get angry that I question it, but I don't understand how love and emotional neglect can coexist. My guess it he never knew what love was, and he still doesn't know what love is. Even though I showed you it's way you still don't know.......))))))))))))))))))))
areudirty
dailybridgerton
jimmyeatworldofficial
theartofmadeline
