One: I Keep Myself

by Mingzhu 2 years ago in dating / love / breakups

A story told in notebook entries

One: I Keep Myself

26.06.2017; 02:29 am

I went back to our spot at the bridge today.

I miss you.

I make myself think about other things most of the time and keep myself from thinking about you—us.

But it just makes it hurt even more when I do end up thinking about you.

We are not perfect, you and I.

But we were pretty amazing together.

I am scared to write you again.

I am so terrified of the possibility that I will break your heart again.

I miss you.

I miss your presence—your warmth.

I miss your words—chosen carefully to write something nice.

I miss your laugh, your eyes when you laugh.

I miss your warmth.

I miss your touch and I miss your talk.

I know that I am scared and I know that I am hurt and I know that I hurt you.

I also know that I think about you often and I fear that the things that overwhelmed me the first time are so much a part of who you are that they would not be comparable.

I miss you and I want to call you so badly right now.

I want to hold your hand in mine because it feels empty without yours.

I want you to wipe away the tear that is forming in my eye and I want to mend your heartbreak because I love you.

I really think that our timing was kind of shit and at the same time pretty amazing.

I mean, it doesn't matter anyway. There is not another way that it happened except for this way. And I wish it could have been different and I would like to try again but also—I don't know.


I just want you back in my life.

Would you come back?

How would I act?

How should I act?

How would you react?

Would you even react at all?

I only I had some answers.


2:49 am.

25.06.2017; 01:41

My mind is rather empty now.

I don't feel as strongly about things as I did yesterday but that doesn't mean that they aren't real. This just happens.

I don't really know who exactly I am writing to. You? Me? No one?

I do know, actually. It's all of those. These are just thoughts and feelings I need to note down. Sometimes struck with a revelation, but mostly just rambling on.

That sounds about right, doesn't it? Very me, I'd say.

Looking through my feed earlier really made me think about my own happiness.

When will I stop keeping myself from being happier; from getting and achieving the things that I want and from keeping the people I love and appreciate around me?

Yet another one of those unanswered questions I'd really like an answer to.

Also. Am I too late?

I want the happiness back that I felt when I first kissed you; the same happiness I felt when I was holding your face close to mine and telling you to kiss me. And I want the thrill of your touch on my body.

I can feel it still when I concentrate just hard enough.

Where did these feelings go? What threw me out of the fall into love with you and put me in this lonely place where there's only space for my voices?

I really want to believe that—if I contacted you tomorrow and we talked about everything in the honest and open way we do—that we could make it work. But I also know that things are not the same anymore. You are trying to forget me. You are thinking things just as I am thinking things.

So what would happen?

And would it be better or worse?

I'm afraid I might be too scared to find out.

Look, I'm writing again. Not a poem or anything particularly profound, but I'm writing from the heart.

And I guess that alone makes it profound already. I hope so.

What are you writing? Your book? Are you angry? Are you spiteful? Do you blame me yet? I do hope you never will and I don't know you as someone who would but I am scared to have broken you in that sense.

It sounds so extreme but I am scared of it.

I think about getting on a train and going to see you at the bookshop a lot. I want to see you in person and talk to you in person. I think that would be the best. But then again...

What if you wouldn't even want to see me? What if you'd turn me away?

There are just so many doubts that I have about this. Not even about you—of course not about you but myself.

How does it work?
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