If I could go back to that day I'd want to tell you: "In exactly 2 years I'll be asking why you did this to me. And in 2 years and 3 months I'll be asking why I did this to myself".
I am no longer comfortable in the body you once craved. Or was it that you craved any body without craving the mind you've now distraught? Insanity is loving enough to love and caring enough to care. Not the insane ramblings you care to understandably ignore. What you call empty talk because it lazes you to see it for the tumbling achievements of a young life. You brought complete happiness and complete despair. You brought about the unwillingness to live without your company. Emptiness is what it is because caring leads you to it. It leads you to lose yourself and therefore all you love and all that no longer love you. 27 months lead me to believe in nothing. Forced to close off the world. I am confused in myself. I am lost in my life, overwhelmed with broken hopes, and nonchalant remarks, and angry words, and fought tears. 27 months ago I was naive enough to think my life complete and together. If only I could have died then, though I know it foolish. I lived and I do live, just without you. Yet is this a life? It is not the life I dreamt of with you. I am no longer the same, I am no longer myself. And you refuse to believe that 27 months can break me forever. 27 months keep me strong, keep me alive in myself, going insane within myself. Before I can live outside of those 27 months, before I can accept you've changed, before I can accept your appologies that were lost in time, before I accept your promises which lie dead beside my hallowed body in the sweet summer grass; I have to accept that love can be lost, believe it has been lost, and move on. But I still hold on to those 27 months, and I know what love is, and that is what keeps me holding on.
