literature

Pieces of a letter, pieces of me

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Literature Text

Dear T.
It’s been 169 days since you told me, that you didn’t love me.

.

I remember you, sitting a foots distance away from me on your bed, with your legs crossed, fidgeting with your fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks and your eyes searching for mine. I remember me, sitting on your bed, a thousand miles away from you, with my back against the wall, unable to blink and unable to speak and unable to look at you.

.

You promised me that you would follow me. That if I ever walked away hurt, you would let me go, but you would follow me, you would come and find me again.
You didn’t and in that frozen moment, I was lost.

.

I stepped into my shoes without tying them and in the next second I was standing outside, on the parking lot behind your building. I remember this, because I couldn’t breathe. I put my backpack down and bend over, clinging to my knees as everything, everything, everything started to swirl down and around. My heart was skipping so many beats, I could feel it in my throat and the only thing I could see was the growing number of dark spots on the ground, where my tears hit the pavement and I cried. Audibly, I cried.

.

We had created something more. A sixth sense, something mystical, something e l e m e n t a l . And that’s why I didn’t just feel betrayed, I felt something more. You had let your soul blend with mine, to create something entirely new and in the end, you tore into me and took your soul back.

.

Knowing that all of that was now supposed to become something I could look back on one day and smile. That notion was unworthy, a disgraceful idea, compared to what we had.

.

I never remember my dreams, but I dreamt of you, about three and a half months later and it made me cry. I woke up with the dissipating feeling of your hand in mine and once more, nothing felt real.

.

I tried to keep laughing, to let life in and move on and it worked. In a lot of ways it worked, but still, whenever I see you, I can’t shake that feeling. Your hand in mine. I don’t think I will ever stop loving you.
This is from one of the letters I have written throughout the past 175 days or so. Letters I will never send. Letters that allow me to vent, to express and to process the different emotions I've been going through and what I still am going through. This was difficult to write. It mostly highlights the negative parts of the experience I went through last year, though there's much more to it than just that. It's also only a few outtakes of the entire letter.
© 2013 - 2024 SteffenC-itsjustme
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