numb

Eventually, resignation comes. Sooner or later you accept the fact that, still, you kept those feelings. The good ones. And being like this, so resigned, admitting you unfortunately still like her and think of her curves and smiles, gets you to see the confusion in falling in and out of love and hate, being slowly ripped apart by your emotions in such a silent way that you get that feeling of... a fog.

You just gave up on forgetting and trying to avoid thinking about her crazy, nervous, imposing and amazed expressions and her hands curling in the air as she speaks. You started dancing slowly with your memories as they slide through you and skim and rub your neck and cheeks.

As people talk about their last heartbreaks and how they got over them, you consider entering the flag football team or go back to skate boarding. Maybe you'll stop listening to Marilyn Manson, even though you’ve always been the one to never give up on your favorite music because of anyone else, no matter who. You think about quitting your job because it’s close to hers. You see that maybe you could be less like yourself to be less like her who, disgustingly for you, someway and somehow became a part of you.

But in your arrogance you make an effort to compare yourself to people whose scars became a kind of ornament, handling your suffering with a very silly kind of pride. But that’s where you draw the line. Because until then… Yes, you will maybe consider being less like yourself to be less like her.