Tell me how I can function as a decent social worker if I’m drowning in the depths of my own misfortune. Karma has a unique way of embracing everything you have never been and violently throwing it at you when you can’t possibly take any more. I comprehend the essence of self sorrow, but the truth in humanity lies within the foundation of love and happiness. My own mother disregards the abrupt separation of the four year relationship that has supported my entire being as an adolescent. Is there no available sympathy for an individual who lacks a sufficient at-home support system, is drowning in the pressure of (overly) paid education, and who cannot find the comfort in familiarity since everything, once again, has dramatically changed in one fell swoop. I need help but I am expected to give it; and for once I’m unsure if I’ll be able to claw my way out this time around.
Deleting your photos was probably one of the hardest things I had to do in my life. The first step to moving on is to disable you from showing up on my Facebook newsfeed so I will not be reminded that you’re doing fine without me. You’re happy while I’m taking my time pretending you don’t exist, pretending you don’t exist, pretending you don’t exist.
I’m relearning how to love coffee because the smell of jasmine tea reminds me too much of you, and I’m trying to avoid the sun, the ocean, the beach, the streets we used to pass, and the friends we share in common, and basically people with the same country, language, and religion as you. I will banish myself into a state of self-isolation in an effort to forget, forget, forget -
Forget the photos taken together, the loving messages sent at 4AM, forget the dinner dates, and inside jokes, the green house, and tickle fights, the jungle party, the waking up together in the morning, or the weird way you sleep with your hands on your chest, and the way you hated the fact I snored. Forget how you feel inside me, the rock pools, the bike rides, or the roughness of your beard against my chin. Or how about the letters I wrote you everyday, or the late night conversations about the baggage in our heads?
Finally, forget I was your first love, and ignore that “First love never dies” bullshit, but let’s not forget to change our relationship status online. Then ignore me, and treat me like a stranger, make me feel confused, lost, and unwanted. Don’t reply to my messages until you convince me you never loved me at all. I’ll jump into the ocean and drown myself in whiskey, then by the time I reach my 8th tequila shot, I’ll make crappy poems to send you until I’d have nothing else left to say. And the next time I reach for my pen, it won’t be to write about you again. The sun will feel warm on my skin once more, and I will get drunk on the colors of the sky instead of tasting hang overs dripping from strangers’ lips.
I will not be a sob story.
I’ll make sure you’ll remember why you fell in love with me.
Sade Andria Zabala (surfandwrite) | The Process of Moving Onsurfandwrite)
They kiss the wrong person.
And pretend to be okay.
People will do anything
to distract their heart.
They will do anything to
distract it from
missing someone. (via h-auptgewinn)