Untitled

I mean, I know you were joking, but there has to be at least some truth in it, right? It would probably be better without me, right?

Someday, I want someone to feel proud of me too.

Having people to talk to and ranting is probably one of the initial segments of moving on. After that comes the part, where you sit down. Alone and quiet. And you feel how the pain slices into your heart. Like a sharp knife pieces a smooth cake. Feel how slowly and oh so softly it hurts, a point that probably sits on the apical anterior, almost physically. And then it spreads to the whole heart, then to the whole chest, and stops only after the left hand is almost unmoving. And the screams won't come out, and the tears have dried out, and you just know words... are just not enough anymore. Words... don't carry an ounce of the torment. So you give up. So you sit down. Alone and quiet. And accept the pain. and probably, finally, hopefully, really, you move on.