When you told me that you had ran out of love with me, that you had run out of ways of showing love to me, that you were done trying to love me the best way you could, something happened. Something both so liberating and overpowering.
It took me some time but in the end, I did act it out.
I cried my eyes out, not for any particular reason. Mostly, I usually tend to think is because I was sad, broken by the fact that me casting my beautiful net out into the sea didn’t in anyway, make me catch beautiful fish. Those are the times when I got to analyse feelings, and to really get behind them. Ed Sheeran – it’s too cold outside for angels to fly, finally made sense to me. I was curious how he got to feel this way, and to be able to put it in actual words, and explain to me exactly that what I felt at that moment, even when I had no idea what the hell that was. Surely then, he must have hurt, bad
This big lump.
You know, really… I don’t know what taking care of yourself means. To let go and go wild, or to tame it and reserve self? To party like an animal, or get lost in a book? After I am broken, I don’t know if it means I’m a butterfly, or a snowflake. There’s a lot of strength coming from the knowledge that you didn’t die, and fear emanating from the fact that all in all, you got hurt.
So I don’t know. I don’t know if crying helps. I don’t know what all these things happen for. And honestly I’m not a bit curious to find out. ’cause I’m afraid to find out that it was not worth all the sleepless nights, puffy eyes and those days, those very long days when even the mere light of the sun is bound to set you off like a hunter’s arrow, when it was so hot that you wanted to take all your clothes off and walk free, but also felt like those fuzzy socks sweatpants and a hoodie were doing you a good one in keeping yourself away from the open when you were in the open.
I know how it feels when it evolves from a crush, to the thing that practically crushes you down into your spirit. I know how it feels when it moves from feeling so secure in your own person, to not knowing who the hell you are. I know how it feels to want to leave but you are not nearly as strong as to tell them something as little as they upset you with their words or actions.

So every time I feel like I don’t know how, I need to remind myself that I do know. And not only that, that I actually can. I can survive alone. I can get up and leave. I actually can. It will be a fine session, maybe a month or two, of layers and layers of old and fresh tears. Old and fresh memories. Going and coming back. But when I spring forth at the right angle and speed, I won’t spring back. I shall be able to take my leave. Maybe, just maybe, the snowflake is better off as water, or water vapour. Same old original mesh and DNA, only more stable and not threatened by change.
Focus on your breathing. Count those sighs. Look in the mirror. Honestly and earnestly see through the person. I am human. I can feel it. I am human.


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