message to anyone, version 15 Options

[Looow]

Well, you know what to do.


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You,
You're okay.


You,
I don't know what to do about you. I promised I wouldn't go look for you this time. I can't help it. You IMed me today but I was away. You IMed me like nothing was wrong yet you sometimes act like you're mad although you say you're not. Maybe she was right. Maybe..

[*Azarel*]

I can't get you out of my system, no matter how hard I try. I simply can't shake the feeling that I've lost something, a part of me that I can't replace. It's been so difficult without you; I don't even know if I'm living anymore, but I guess I am—if this is what you can call life, anyway.

I went down south for Thanksgiving; it was terrible. Everywhere I look, there are traces of you. It started in Santa Monica. I don't know if it was the Italian restaurant with the beautiful language flowing from the lips of the waiter or the guy casually strolling down the street who looked just like you or even the fact that it was just "Santa Monica in the wintertime.."

You're not real; you lied to me. It should be easy for me to let go, but it's not. I can't. I love you more than I ever imagined I would, but I don't discern truth from lie with you. I've spent my whole life looking for you, and I found you—I can't lose you, not again, not like last time, but I guess I already have. It's my fault; it's always my fault, I know.

I'm stupid, it's not news. I push people away, and I simply don't deserve happiness in any form. It's been a while since I've cried myself to sleep over you, but those two nights in San Diego did it. It wasn't La Jolla, but pretty damn close. I was months too late, just like with Stanford. You were everywhere—the beaches, the stores at the mall, the college, the apartments, but most of all, my heart. I didn't think it'd hurt like this, not again, but it does. I've been in love with you so long, I can't let go. I can't live with the pain; it's unbearable.

Can I find you some day? Would you let me get to know the real you? I can't give up someone as amazing as you; I can't give up on this. I've never had to really work for anything, but I want this. I need this—I don't know how to live with the pain of knowing there was a possibility that I passed up. I can't live with, "What if?" I need to know that this can work, because I know this is real. I've never been surer about anything in my life.

So why is that you've disappeared again? After you made me promise that I'd talk to you, after you told me that you'd have "Internet and a phone and all that fun stuff," after you'd said that you'd give me your p. o. box address, you're gone. I'm not angry, I've learned better—but that doesn't mean that I don't wonder; I do, more than anything else in the world.

But it's me; it always is. I'm unapproachable, intimidating, hated. I should know better, dammit. How foolish could I be? Stupid. Blinded. Naïve.

Why even believe?

I miss you.