lovely & petite ♥

It has become a recent habit of mine - to automatically assume everything (I say and do) will directly translate into something more (to you). Some perverse reality. In all honestly, could this only mean one thing? I am not as independent as I would like to believe I am?

No, this cannot be. This cannot be who I have become. I am not this person. I am determined, unfaltering, strong-willed, straight forward. Life’s too short to be playing games; chasing each other around, trying to figure one another out. Trying to figure this out.

What is this? I have yet to comprehend it.

This does not stop me from thinking, still caring, how capable I am in making everything seem like it is about you. How sure are you? How sure am I?
You; you, who I partially am desperate to leave behind. And yet, struggle.  

Do not misinterpret me. I have moved ahead.
I am just learning to fully accept that maybe, I can never fully go on, without bringing some part of you with me. A lesson learnt, an experience lived. A heart lost (and in some ways, gained), a heart invested.

Maybe it is true then what others say; you do not have a say when something as life altering as this happens to you: you carry your previous loves with you, throughout the rest of your life; no choice. It shapes you. Moulds you. Makes you, and in some cases, breaks you. 

Teaches you, who you truly are. When everything else falls away, falls apart, falls silent. Who ends up standing at the finishing line - (hopefully) a better, wiser, stronger version of you.

One thing is for sure. I am at peace.

I do not do this on purpose (though, by addressing this, does it make it more real? - I guess this is just one of those things I cannot say for sure). I do not, or at least try not, to give you the chance, the allowance to interpret everything about me and my life, as directly related to you. 

This, no more. I am sorry.

How much longer can I go on, evading you and your emotions? There must come a time when both you and I acknowledge and accept that the time has come. To move forward, no more tip toeing, no more second guessing. No more charades. For me, personally, the time has come. 
I have had enough of grieving, enough of feeling sorry. Enough of, this.  

Personally, I still believe it was not all bad. It is true - it is so much harder to remember the good than the bad. But truly, it has been good. We were good and in so many ways, you have been what I needed. You were what I needed. Everything I needed.

So maybe this is all me after all. As self-indulging as that may sound, maybe, it could just be that somehow, somewhere along the line, I outgrew you. Trust me, I never wanted this to happen, never dreamt for this to happen. I do not know when or what exactly happened. It just seemed that over such a long period of time (although, it felt like a blink of an eye), it just felt different. Distant. Lonely. Broken. 

For everything you were, and are, to me. I thank you. You have been one of my greatest friend, teacher, lover. And for that, I am eternally grateful. Thank you for the times you have been my shoulder, pillar and comforter. Deeply and truly, thank you.

A very good friend of mine once told me - there is nothing good in goodbye. However, that does not necessarily mean that sometimes it is not necessary. Or, in that rare occasion - goodbye seems to be the only good thing.

So, I guess this is it - goodbye.

Like a constant ringing in my head, it repeats itself: “you could be doing so much more”.
“You could be doing so much more”.
“You could be doing so much more”.
Over and over and over and over again. 

What does it mean to truly be contented with yourself. With your actions. With your thoughts.
Were we never made for contentment?

And just like that, the ringing continues.

How can I be doing more, when I’m already not doing enough.
If anything, nothing at all. Stagnant. Still. Dead.

These struggles, battles in my head never seem to end. These conversations I have with myself, turn around in circles. Never finding a solution, never finding peace.

After all, how can I be doing any more. When I’m barely doing enough.

Never enough.