Journal Entry #15: Dear ______

There goes my heart again. I wave goodbye to the wayside as I watch it fade away into an outline growing only smaller and smaller, and in time, entirely out of my sight; just one more time, like a song on a fucking repeat. What’s worse is that I watched aimlessly and almost cluelessly as I watched you slowly tie your knots around it; precisely, with a smile; with elegance, like you had no bad intention at all. Maybe you didn't, so I guess that you just forgot to think a little deeper than three inches below the surface. Still much less than I thought that you would, and still more than enough for me to drown in, and more than enough to fill my lungs and end my day dreams about how maybe this time, would be different. Maybe this time, it would all add up. Maybe, you would finally make it all add up. I mean, it has to, right? You're 'all grown up' now; or so you say and think. It's nothing but one more part of my heart ripped off from just another break in the disparate cement streets, where it bounced up and down from that rope that you tied around it and drug it by. I picture you; smiling, watching every detail about every inch of string that you wrap around it. I watch you refine it. I watch you look at me and smile while you say, “Just one more go around Jamey. Just one more time. But I promise that this will be worse than all of the others.” I watch as you smile into my wearying eyes without breaking your stare, and I watch as my heart is tossed from this freight train of patience, constancy, heart, and persistence: All of the things that I held out for you for so long; for whom I remember you being.

I keep saying that two years just isn't enough time for you to change as much as you have, while one of those years doesn't even count, really. The words “I want to be with you for a long, long time James” have shaken me to the point where I can't focus onto the world clearly, and the words “I won't change on you” have been branded into the back wall of my mind for so long, yet I've watched you pose in front of that wall and those words while I slowly watched you change. And those words faded from your memory with every stance that you so unknowingly and knowingly took in front of it, and threw into my face. But I refused to let go, despite how you refused to turn around and remember those words. If anyone is going to give an assuring definition of love, it will be me. I'm not just another vain individual; I'm not. But why do I feel like I'm one of the only few who live by this still? I don't want to fall in love to wake up two years later to be something completely different and completely worse than what I was; not by my own fault or declining self-change, or either by a mistake where I let someone trick me into thinking that they're something other than what they really are. That's not love, and I could never do that to somebody. I'm not even sure if I would even recognize you in my own bed anymore. What's worse than turning to say 'I love you,' but you find a stranger in your sheets instead? It's when you realize that that stranger was the person that you loved, but their eyes are different; the colors mismatch; their words aren't their usual words, and for some reason you find all of the faults that never appeared to you before. Maybe because they weren't there before. Suddenly, you find yourself lost in the new chasms and cracks that are for some reason now clearly distinguished on their face. And all in a matter of what can seem to be the shortest episode that you have ever experienced, your skin, and your sheets grow cold, and your mind grows lonely. I've been craving your comfort for far too long, and I'm still starving for it, and I'm so tired of that. I found myself bent over your absence, dry heaving until my insides ached. Now I find myself doing the same over the permanence that will likely come with that absence now.

But I'm exhausted. I stumble to hold my now torn up heart into the cavity inside of my chest, but it's now small frame keeps slipping out of place. Maybe what you need is for me to let it roll out, onto this keyboard, to spell out every single thing that makes it beat. But English can't justify it, just like English can't justify anyone else's feelings. No language can; nothing can touch its entirety. I'm even convinced that tearing out my own heart and handing it to you wouldn't even justify what I feel. That is why I told you that I loved you; despite its obvious limited letters and words, I had a pronounced and voluminous definition attached with it; attached to you. One that, in simple truth and without arrogance, towered above the majorities. It was the exact one that you wanted; not by my decision, but yours. You knew that it meant this, because I made it clear to you. But for some reason, the severity of a lot of things that go along with these types of emotions are now so usually overlooked by the common person, and mine was overlooked by you. I described its every shape and form; its every intent and wanting, yet for some odd reason, you must have heard some skimmed and watered down version. Either that, or you let your mind dull it down into a fraction's worth of its true meaning, which seems much more likely. Where are the ears that used to hear me so well? Where are your ears that used to beg me for my words? For my thoughts? For the reassurances that what I called my heart, was also yours? Maybe, just maybe, you're still hiding from the feelings that you have been hiding and protecting yourself from for so long, for fear of the worst outcomes. Maybe, just maybe, you've learned to finally keep a composed posture with your back boldly in their face, far more than I have ever known you to be able to pull off before; maybe, just maybe. Or maybe, just maybe, I now have too much hope doused into my 'maybes.'

So my hands tremble, my eyelids shut, and my heart grows heavy when I now remember it. I picture your face, and for a split second I find myself elated and on top of the world, and then the realities and the emptiness of your absence overwhelms it, and I begin to pull myself up off of the floor.

The scenery of somewhere else
I wish things were that simple,
That leaving solves everything
That departing covers mistakes you've made,
The wrong turns you took years ago,
That leaving solves everything
The scenery of somewhere else
I wish things were that simple,
That leaving solves everything
That departing covers mistakes you've made,
The wrong turns you took years ago,
That leaving solves everything

I have a secret to admit to you. I am tired of holding back. But it was somewhat of a secret to myself as well: I failed to realize (Or maybe even refused) that this entire time where I found myself growing more okay to be without you by the day, I really was subconsciously, waiting for you; waiting for you to reach the point of seeing what you needed to see; what I wanted you to see. So now for a deeper truth: I was waiting for you, I knew it, but I wouldn't admit it wholeheartedly to myself. You always made your steps forward. You always called with an apology, an I miss you, a restart, and an advance. And the truth is that I never left. I just wanted to see your persistence; a fight for me. Even just a heartfelt phrase; a small movement forward of good intent which would have ultimately outweighed the world. What I didn't see then, I see now on a much bigger picture and scale. I stayed so angry at you. I wouldn't accept your actions for what they really were. I'm sick from beating myself up from it, but even sicker from this reality that my stomach won't digest. The silence of my phone is twice the weight on my shoulders, when I know that you won't be calling; at least not for what I have waited for it to be.

It tears me apart not knowing whether our ultimate departing from each other was mostly mine or your fault, despite that we both played key roles in it. At least I'm man enough to admit that the fault could be leaning towards me, or even that it may be all of my fault for some reasons which I'm oblivious to or unaware of. And at least I told you this, and at least I gave you this, which is more than I can say for you.

So what's a lonely individual who focuses on doing the right things have left to do afterward? Sit around and wait until they're ready again, no matter the hurt, and no matter the length of time that it takes. I'm not like the bad ones, and I don't use people for my own selfish comfort when it is clear that most people don’t want to be used that way. As for the ones that do, I hope that you can find a higher place for yourself in life, and in your own mind; you deserve that.

I picked my heart up from those tracks that you threw me under. What little bit was left, I shoved back into my chest and swallowed my tongue for the fear that I'll discover more of these things that are now setting me apart from you. Every entry that I write, I grow a hatred for a new word which has made its way into our present; detachment, fault, departing, so on and so on. And every time that I hear these words outside and inside of my head, I think of you, and all of the emotions follow. They sway up and down, up and down, up and down, and up and down, until I can grasp a hold of the nearest object, and level myself back into a state which is agreeable to anything but nauseous.

I miss seeing your back breaking from not your quaint judgment or your hollow depths, but instead from the weight of your heart towards its good will and wanting in this life and everyone in it.

There was some other kind of life inside of you; something special. And I hope that you're only hiding it from me now, instead of the possibility that it may have gone away, because the world needs what I saw in you.

I miss your innocence; the one and the kind that I would never deceive or deprave you of; the one that I would break every limb in my body protecting.

I miss the artist that I once saw so brightly in you. The one that I hope to God, never dims. And I miss the artist that you brought out in me.

You're not a bad person now. That's not my point. I just think that I'm in love with something which I think you no longer are; What I used to know that you weren't; what I've been waiting for you to prove again that you are not, but you have yet to. So don't you see? This is exactly what I was so afraid of; exactly what change like yours does; exactly what I believed would never happen between us. Maybe others, but not us. After all, you promised, remember? I do.

I'm on the ledge of an endless drop. I stand near it and creep my eyes just above the break in the earth to see what exactly is at the bottom. I hope for an ocean, a beach, even the rocks, but I can't see a thing. I can't hear a thing. I find my feet and ankles locked to fight the wind and gusts which push me so much closer. I try to balance, but too much of my own effort throws me off, and I slip. And with one last ounce of hope, I grasp the ledge before I begin my fall. I find myself here, finally hanging by an effort which I shouldn't even be attempting for your lack of attempts. I've stood so closely to this ledge for so long, but hesitated to bring myself near it. You have one final chance, but my grip grows weaker by the moment for the fear and understanding that I will probably never see the day where you come, extend your hand, and pull me up from atop this immense misunderstanding between your heart and mine. Because I am still here, despite how much or how little, and don't you dare tell me that's not love. Don't you dare insult the hells that I have walked, stumbled, and crawled through for you. And don't you dare insult the hells that I am still willing for you. Here is your entry where I define love by the wounds, cuts, scrapes, anguish, bruises, damages, distress, gashes, grievances, harms, lesions, torments, traumas, and burns which consume my body.
Here it is written on paper; spelled out, spaced out, thought out, and felt out: Your forever.

On Christmas, I didn't sing one song.
On New Years, I didn't count down one single second.
On Valentines, I numbed every emotion that I had inside of me, and I dulled my sights to distort the endless “I love you's” that littered the place. I was happy for them, but sad for what I hope isn't just a ghost that I've been chasing.
And my recent birthday, only six days ago, felt as empty as the last, despite the countless people that I heard from. This year again, I didn't even hear from you once; not even six days later, despite our recent efforts just days before.

I think that it's time to finally get the point. You have me at my bare; my optimism shattered. You're the only one that I would give this to, but it's time to take my steps forward, and finally and unfortunately, my steps away from us. One day my grip from this ledge will let loose entirely, even though the thought of you fading away from me by my own actions makes me weak in my knees and in my stomach. So here's where I begin to rebuild the optimism which I thrive off of; the optimism that I always keep, but sometimes find myself lacking from your lack of care.

So despite as much as you have hurt me,
I still don't want to hurt you

And as off-beat as you are from me now;
As distant as you seem to be from the times that we called ours;
Where I found and often find myself still standing, waiting, remembering everything.

I still love you

And as much as you may have forgotten about us
Or how petty you may grow to see it to have been
And as far as you may fade and convince yourself that it was something smaller than what it really was

I still love you

And as much as you may not love me,
I still love you.
So here I am again. Spelled out, spaced out, thought out, and felt out: Your forever.

Mon coeur,
Je n'ai pas oublié.


Goodbye.


You've left me with such a silent world,
Where evenings are calm, but I'm restless
And my breath has become as thin as the wind

Not even the mighty sky could fill the space you left behind
Not even when it rains
No, nothing takes your place
Your emptiness too great to fill

I have been holding my breath,
For too many nights in a row,
And somewhere on coastlines unknown to me
You paint your dreams,
With reds and blues and greens
Yea you're painting daffodils by the sea,
Without me

Today in a breeze I sensed your perfume
But you were nowhere near
And in reverie,
I felt you holding me
And even in my dreams I shake from the fear
Of truth being swept away
By the rhythm of the waves I whisper in your ears

I have been holding my breath,
For too many nights in a row,
And somewhere on coastlines unknown to me
You paint your dreams,
With reds and blues and greens.
Yea you're painting daffodils growing by the sea,
Without me

I would give away
The sweetest memories,
If I could just be with you again
Be with you again

I have been holding my breath,
For too many nights in a row,
And somewhere on coastlines unknown to me
You paint your dreams,
With reds and blues and greens.
Yea you're painting daffodils growing by the sea,
Without me

Last night I dreamt you were with me,
Finally I could breathe



























*Lyrics credited to Jeniferever and Daphne Loves Derby