Purgatory

she lives.

I don’t know why I didn’t think to do this sooner. To write my feelings and maybe in doing so, to purge myself of you. I’ve tried other ways. I’ve tried to forcefully erase you from memory, but I can’t. Because I have so much I want to say to you, at you, about you.

I love you and I miss you to bits and pieces. Every day, I see or experience something that reminds me of you or that I want to share with you and I die a little inside knowing I can’t.

I’ve tried to believe that you don’t care, so it’s easy for you, but I know it’s not. I know you’re sad and I know how you get when you’re sad. Do you have a headache? Are you stalking my social media aggressively too?

I'm so shaken because I was not ready to let you go. I’d done everything to prolong the inevitable and I thought you were with me, desperately grasping hold of the little time we had left.

But I realise now that maybe you never really wanted this. You never really wanted me. I was passing folly that passed by too slowly. A child that held on tightly to your leg that could not be shaken unless pried off. Being rid of me was probably unburdening for you wasn't it? I don't deserve the way you treated me but I want you nonetheless. Because my love for you fuels my delusion and convinces me that you didn't mean any of it. Like you'll come back and tell me you're sorry as usual. But this time feels different. It is different. The finality of our separation was undeniable in our last conversation. As usual, I was begging you to choose me and yet again, you rejected me.

I want to believe you hate me because why else would you leave me? Why else would you decide you didn't want to be with me anymore out of the blue. Did I scare you away when I told you how much I loved you? Yeni says you never wanted anything serious but you were too cowardly to tell me and a part of me believes her but the rest of me rejects the mere thought of it because I KNOW you love me. Right?

I think of all the bad; our down moments, times when you hurt me and I see cause to believe that you don't care. But, for every bad memory, there are two great ones. How could you hate me when there’s so much love in our story?

It had to have come from a place of care when you made the makeshift cover for my highlighter so it wouldn’t dry up. It had to be love when you came over and stayed with me when my friends were hours late for an outing because you didn't want me to wait alone. What else could have inspired our dances in front of your mirror in those moments when we were in stasis and your apartment was our time capsule?

I tried to distract myself from thoughts of you by studying and as I sat down to begin, I remembered the timetable you made me and how you berated me for not using it. You said it’d taken you 40 minutes to make and that if I didn’t study then what was the point of the effort?

What other incentive did I need???

I’m torn between coaxing and cajoling myself out of loving you because of how you forsook me over and over again and blindly clinging to love and hazy memories through rose-coloured lenses because it’s something to hold on to. Should your lack of consideration, your selfishness, your disregard for me negate my senseless love for you?

I stay up late at night trying to conjure images of you, of us. I try to relive our best moments. The day I sat in your lap and drew, poorly, while you watched me like I was Picasso. The print-out of the picture you made to hang up on your wardrobe. The way you looked at me like I was perfect and the times when overwhelmed with feeling, you let me have vocal expressions of your love.

I’m not ready. I wasn’t ready to let go of you. How was it so easy for you, time and time again, to reject me? How do you claim to love someone and then push them away with such ferocity?

I don’t understand it. I’m confounded and so it hasn’t sunk in that I’ll probably never run my hands through your hair again. I may never be able to hold you and kiss you again. My 'probablys' and 'mays' betray my disposition; how surreal it still is to me that we’re not together; that I won't be climbing up your treacherous stairs anymore.

Despite everything, I’m desperate to have you back. That’s been all I wanted all along; simplistic, stupid love and happiness. For you to have me and I, you while we figure this phase of our lives out.

You made it clear that you didn’t want to be with me in multiple ways. How didn't I see it sooner?

You're dissatisfied with life (and aren't we all?) and you need something to pin it on so you chose me. In your cleanse, you found me unworthy and decided I was your problem. I imagine you having an epiphany and 'realising' that my reprobate spirit was the cause of your derailment.

Maybe you do hate me because I believe only disdain or deep disregard would cause someone to say what you said to me as you banished me from your life and as you forced my hand, leaving me no choice but to purge you from mine too.

Are you having as hard a time at it as I am?

I sincerely hope you’re miserable. I hope you think of me and your stomach turns with regret. I hope you truly do love me like I believe you do and that that love chokes you. I hope you forever wonder what could have been if you’d seen me as more than a detour, a deviation from your plans. I also hope you’re satisfied now and that you’re not too sad; that you're eating and sleeping well even though I know you’re not. I hope you’re not working too hard and beating yourself up about things that you can’t control and above all, I hope you know I love you.