And once again, memories.
I want to try, make me strong, to prove to myself that I can deal with all this. review photos, my journal, and my mind gives me images, moments, all that happened. My heart shrinks, tightens, informs me that the pain is coming, is taking over me. But want to try, make me strong, to prove to myself that I can deal with all this ...
Stupid pride.
And I say ... That I'm sad, I'm sad that I do nothing to mourn. Should move on, face life, perhaps even fall in love again.
You have no idea. With every tear that wets my eyes with every sob that blocks my mouth, each wound I'm open, metaphorical veins who cuts my dismay. All in all, I am demonstrating that I really loved. Maybe I fell too, maybe I did something I've always hated: illusions.
But I already knew how it would end all this. Because in the past, I was leaving messages for this present, I was writing me consolation. And they all tell me how happy he was to be, although there were people telling me not worth by this self-destruction. I hate to say, but he was right.
Because I checked the memories, but this time, further. I have limited myself to mourn for them, this time, still bleary-eyed, I followed them, and I realized that I was suffering always. Always. Every moment of happiness, has a bone destruction. But I did not care. Because worthwhile. Because it's worth.
