I feel sorry for myself that I loved a heartless person.
I don’t even know how to start. I don’t know what to say.
All I know is I hate you. No, not hate. I am disappointed. I am disappointed
with myself that I continued to hope that you will change. That I can still
expect something from you.
That the day will come that you will care for me enough even
just to know when my birthday is.
And my birthday is the blimmin’ fifth of November, the day
that a movie you like tells you to remember.
A lot of people I barely know got out of their way to send
me a message on Facebook or text me just to wish me a happy birthday. My
birthday is written all over the world of social media. Even the moderators of
various websites I never even used greeted me with an automatically-generated
email. These are people I know little to nothing about.
But I got nothing from you. You who I have given blimmin’
romantic advice, you who I have encouraged to go on when you thought law school
is not for you, you who told me what he wants to be, you who I have shared the
best songs I knew with, you who I have dedicated my flippin’ undergraduate
thesis to! God, if I only knew how you’d just throw all of these away and act
like you never knew me at all.
I don’t even care anymore if you don’t love me that way I do
about you. Well I still do, partly. But it has come to the point wherein all I
wanted is to just hear from you. Anything from you.
A ‘happy birthday’ would have sufficed for me to know that
you are still there. That you are not just a lifeless avatar on Facebook that I
check every now and then to see if there are any updates.
I am disappointed with how I expected you to call me,
because I asked you to do so many months ago when I told you I love you and I
want to hear your response, whatever it may be. I feel sorry for myself because
I kept assuming that you value my feelings and one day you will say that you
do. I feel sorry for myself that I believed that you are a kind person.
All I wanted for my birthday is a response from you for that
email I sent five months ago.
I feel so stupid for thinking that you can’t make the
situation harder than it already was. I feel so stupid for saying I love you
for the third time, and still nothing.
I feel so stupid for believing that you are still the person
that I wrote stupid letters for. That the love I have faithfully nurtured and
collected for over two years will be appreciated by their recipient, but you
just spat on them and threw them out of the window.
I feel so stupid that even now that I am writing this, I am
still hoping that I am wrong. That you are not as bad as the person I thought
you are. That you have an explanation to all these things.
I feel so stupid that I cannot not love you, and it has come
to the point that it made me devoid of any emotion. I can’t feel sad, because I
forgot how it is to be completely happy. I already forgot how it is to feel
over the moon because of someone.
I don’t even know what the word ‘love’ means anymore. It may exist, somewhere, but all I know is
that it will screw you over for caring too much. Let that person inspire you to
the point that you can almost do anything, and watch your innocent little heart
be taken away and chopped finely until it disappears into thin air.
It is nothing like what you see on movies. It is not
something to be believed in.
I don’t really know if I still feel about you the way I did
before. Maybe I don’t. But there’s still a part of me that remembers you when I
see cars inside malls or when I hear 30 Seconds to Mars. I still hope I can
climb mountains with you, or travel the world together, or go to an Oasis gig
when Noel and Liam get back together. The thought of ending up with you still
feels like home, although this time I am not sure if I am welcome anymore.
I just miss you so much. I can feel the pain run from my
throat to my chest with the thought that this is how the story of us ends. In
the words of The Smiths: I know it’s over
and it never really began…
