You are the demon that plaques me.
You are the harsh wind of reality that whips my naked and sensitive skin.
You are the tears of my soul.
The scars that don’t fade.
You are the beginning of my end.
I haven’t been able to write because of you. You release yourself from my memories and seep into my work. No matter what I write, no matter what I attempt to put forth, you are there.
I loved you and still love you. You were a part of me that will never fade away. I like to think you were the best thing to ever happen to me and yet this rejection has also been the worse phase of my life. All those happy days and nights with you have now been tarnished with the thought that it was just one sided, that I was in a confused daydream. A slow and happy dream that turned into a biting nightmare. A whole era of my life leaving me wondering; was I just imagining it?
And as a writer, I’ve suffered. My work as suffered. I have been through rejection, been though heartache and betrayal but this feels worse. This feels like my heart has been thrown back into my face covered in boot marks and spit. I try to write but this saddness seeps in. This constant feeling of helplessness and pity. My characters are flat, my lines feel scripted and not from the heart. My stories have becomed clinched and forced. I don’t have the spirit anymore. My creativity has left me to morn my broken heart and mangled soul. And the worse thing about this? All the word, stories, people and places, have an element of you in them. My only solace, writing, has become my worst enemy.
So instead of fighting this losing battle, I have decided to pen this open letter to you. As I write, my tears decorate my keys and cloud my eyes. My head is heavy, my breathing is shallow. So this is how it feels? Letting go? Or attempting to let go? I’m not sure which I’m doing by writing this but I’m admiting something now. My scars still sting. My heart still aches when I see you smile at her. My memories go into overdrive when I see that bracelet, when I hear that song or when I remember Anne Hathaway in ‘Love and Other Drugs’. I’ve been faking a smile. Hiding it all inside. I’m tired. Weak. Sad. Writhing away, stuck in the memories of us. I shall not lie to myself anymore. I am hurt, not over you. And I bet that makes you happy that after all this time, I still cry over you.
“Sometimes tears say all there is to say
Sometime scars wont ever fade
Tried to break my heart
well it’s broke
Tried to hang me high
Well I’m choked
It’s the end where I begin”
End Where I begin – The Script