Normally I’d burst out and talk about all the shit that we’ve done to each other the past couple of months, but I don’t feel reckless enough to do that yet. You’re a sound ace, a guy, who doesn’t hold back, with a heart that seeks everything that can break it. And I’m a negligent, hotheaded, spontaneous, and madcap gal with a head full of poetry and art.

Such a perfect match for playing with fire, don’t you think?

Meeting up in the middle of the night once again, only to end up not being able to keep away from each other. I’m so sick of only seeing your face –a face that my mind used to be so full of– in the weariness and desolation of the midnight hours. Maybe we both just love the idea of the secret. But I’ve reached a point where I’ve finally become weary of this constant solitude.

Our time is running out, and this is probably the only time in my life when I’ve been worried about time frames and I can’t keep being with you; not like this. I want to spend time with you, before every element of contact I might have with you becomes a form of some kind of digital communication. I want to finally be able to not feel like I should keep my walls just a tad bit higher when I’m with you, just so we both don’t go up in flames.

Where is this love that you so convincingly claim to have for me? Full of regret, grief and hiding the feelings behind our eyes? And I’m not going to blame you. There are days that I spend only filled with anger and thoughts about letting go of this – letting go of you. But the moment my phone rings and it’s you, I never seem to resist picking up.

I know you’re sorry my family treats me this way, and my life has turned out to be such an awful mess. I’m sorry that you almost had to take pills to feel better and go through hell for a while. You’ve almost lost all of your friends, and I’ve completely lost my head. We can’t exist within our own mind, and maybe that’s one of the factors that instantly connected us. We both secretly love some sort of sadness, or even personal destruction, our bodies seeking it constantly.

Yet we somehow liven up when the other walks through the door. You, with those eyes full of hollowness, and me, with that constant melancholy overtaking me. Thus, we haven’t been able to work on “apart”. There’ll be days when the tension between us just appears out of the blue and other ones when it’ll be building up for days.

I can’t even get mad anymore. You don’t have any impact on my feelings, because I’ve become so tired of this emotional rollercoaster you and I are constantly riding on, with the end of the ride being the exact same every time. Just hold me, wrap me around your fingers as you whisper all of your little anxieties in my ear, and fall asleep next to me until daylight finds us curled up in each other’s arms the next morning.

You might have thought to yourself that we had all the time in the world to witness each other, but, unfairly, all we ended up having is this brief, melancholic glimpse of all the good times we shared which we wrecked ourselves.

I sometimes catch myself missing our little moments together, or when you looked at me with those eyes full of integrity, or when you brought me chocolate in the middle of the night because I told you I was jealous of you eating it. And thinking about us, which is such a weird –and even non-existent at times– concept these days, I can’t help but wonder how we screwed it up so badly.

You turned cold, bottled up and repressed, making me so worried sometimes, and I grew tough, letting my twisted thoughts swallow me completely, leaving you speechless at times. And yet we keep haunting each others’ beds, trying to hide our feelings in the broad daylight and the city streets, only to become overwhelmed and careless before running to one another again.

And I really hate the fact that I just keep freezing in the sight of you, closing my mouth and turning into this insecure, sensitive mess every time you hold me into your arms, and I hate that I can’t ever seem to let you know exactly how I feel. Maybe that’s because I don’t even know how to cope with all of this. And baby, trust me, I worked so hard in trying to convince myself that this is nothing –that we aren’t anything anymore. I can’t seem to accept that what we have is nothing but a brief moment of total physical, mental –and every other kind– of love, though.

There has to be more.
I try to think that you and I are more than this.

All I do know, even if I know nothing about how we’re going to turn out in the end, is that I don’t want to say goodbye. My heart breaks a little knowing that I’ll have to soon. And I want to keep seeing you, I want to know what you’re up to. Just not like this.

I’m tired of being numb. This time, I want to feel something.

Not a brief glow in your eyes when you look at me; and I don’t mean just take a peek of my pretty dress or dolled up face. I mean a true, deep look into me, my heart and soul. Even just seeing you truly smile again. I’ve had enough of those abrupt spouts of lust and desire.

I’m sorry that I could never tell you all of these things and I’m sorry I ruined so many things myself, I really hope you forgive me someday.

And when I finally go, when I finally set both myself and you free, please promise that every now and then you’ll still compare my dark brown eyes to the midnight sky; if only in your thoughts.

Author: Ioanna Vargianiti

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