It’s so strange how I still hold resentment for certain people and situations. People that are no longer in my life and moments that have long passed. I still feel like pit in my stomach when I think about you, or this time, or that time. I create conversations between a version of me and a version of you that simply cannot exist. Perhaps will never exist because it is neither here nor there. I hold space for things I do not have room to carry. Weight that is too heavy for me to bare. Dreams of us that are too far gone to offer any hope or satisfaction in keeping them; no purpose in designating them as ‘dreams.’ I feel like I continuously watch a movie play on the front side of my skull. I guess that’s called imagination. Repeating conversations we’ve had or things I wish I would have said. Sometimes I imagine kissing you and others flipping you off. Receiving a metaphorically-bruised heart because you’ve made me so sad. Simultaneously talking to my present- and future-self because the lesson was never learned and I know I’m too stubborn to learn it now. How can I say I wear my heart on my sleeve when my heart does not even know what it wants? When my ego gets in the way? When I lie through my own teeth and swallow the truth? I tire myself out. The world is too kind for me, too kind to me. I don’t think I deserve it.
