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Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Dreams. 

Perfection is the stuff of dreams. If this is true, then I'm having a nightmare. I never knew perfect sadness is possible. You can't be perfectly sad. There has to be a bit of happiness in there somewhere. Or so I used to believe. The world loves to prove you wrong. It has a sick sense of humor. I am perfectly sad. Perfect sadness is the stuff of nightmares. I know of nightmares very well.

I have chosen not to sleep tonight. I don't know when sleep will come. It's the dreams I fear. That's where I see him, all the time, in so many different ways.

Compared to things other people have experienced, other griefs, other pains, other sufferings, mine does not compare. This is only a broken heart. This is only disappointment. This is only the pain I feel because I think things are unfair. I thought I was special. I wanted to be special. But I think he kissed her, and he hugged her for such a long time. Longer than he did me. And I realized the truth. I am not special. I am just another girl in his ocean of women and their attention towards him. I thought I made him feel different. I thought I sealed my heart in his hands and that he gave me his to be mine forever. I thought we were perfection. I am wrong.

I am not special. I do not make him feel different. He is not more comfortable when he is with me. He does not consider me his world. He does not love me as much as I love him. I was never the only one. He did not return to me because I was always the one in his mind. I was always there. Always available. I was the fallback girl. I was a floor mat. He considers me that annoying ex who just wouldn't go away. This was all a sick joke, and I'm the only one crying.

Your problems are only worse because they are yours.

My mouth tastes of cigarettes and my tongue is numb. My fingers are frozen and jittery from the many coffees and sitting outside an airport in 6 degree weather for two and a half hours. I was afraid to go home. I am afraid of my bedroom, closed doors, being very very alone. I'm afraid of what I might do to myself. I am afraid of tears. I am afraid of sleep. I am afraid of nightmares.

I pray you never read this. I pray this fades to complete nothingness, such as I am to you. Nothing. A forgettable fragment of a time in your life. Dispensable. Dismissible. Unworthy. Flawed. Laughable. Naive. Pathetic. Pick a word, any word. It describes me. Pitiful.

Hey mullet girl. Thank you. I love you, for everything. I know it will go away. I'm glad you're there to help me along. I wish I had done the same for you. Again, thank you.

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