Home Alone, Just Me and My Troubles

And just as immediate and unrelenting as it had so many times before, the rush of it comes over me again- the staggering pain, the flimsy body, the numbed mind- all of it so quaintly familiar and oh so heavy. I'd take a bullet in exchange for such agonizing pain. The ability to care is no quality, no good characteristic of a person, it is just a very complex weakness. Because it is so easy to care for someone, but it is even easier for that someone to let you down, to give nothing in return. That truly is the most painful thing. I reexamine the last two years of my life and see something that could have been great.

I find myself glancing out my window, hoping to see you coming back, giving yourself a second chance to prove how much you say you care. But you aren't there, you left knowing that pain and sadness would be my company. The most heinous of crimes. No one should be left alone to contend with pain and sadness, it's one of the most putrid acts a human can commit. I'd have rather given an arm or leg than leave you in the state of mind you have left me in. Nothing, not even the forces of God or nature could have made me leave you. Little did you know that all the words of love you spouted, any meaning of it, was gone the second you stepped out that door.

You talk a lot for someone who supposedly cares and loves. You can say the same things a thousand times, a thousand different ways, and at first it might be inviting. But over time, consistent talk and no action make your words empty. Your mouth is just a broken record. 

And this thing I write on often- you don't care of it enough to remember to give it a glance, knowing how much it would mean to me.