Another sleepless night. These are happening more often than I’d like.
It’s a little late, and a little lonely. I’m a bit tired, but at the same time I don’t want to sleep just yet either. I just don’t know how I feel anymore. Perhaps I’ll just stay up a little while longer and think. Then when these thoughts of mine become too much to bear and exhaustion begins to envelop me once more, I’ll fall into a deep slumber and escape for awhile.
To tell you the truth, it’s still a little hard to believe you’ll be gone. I suppose it just hasn’t hit me yet, but it will soon enough. When it finally does, it’ll no doubt hit hard. I’ve seen more than enough people come and go over the years, but you never quite get used to it, no matter how many times it’s happened. It’s going to get awfully lonely again, isn’t it? There are others I could turn to if I sought their company, but sometimes I get the feeling that they’re not too fond of having me around. I’ve been keeping to myself a lot more than I usually have as of late. Perhaps I’m just trying to brace myself for what comes next. Y’know, to develop an immunity to the stuff, or at the very least some sort of tolerance. I don’t think it’s working out too well though. If anything it’s probably making the situation worse. Maybe that’s my big problem. I distance myself from my problems too much along with the people who are remotely close to me in the process. I push them away, and hide behind a mask in order to protect myself from harm. Everyone is leaving though. They’re all heading off down their own paths, but I’m still here without a clue where to go next. It’s really lonely here by myself, and it’s getting harder to press forward. It hurts, y’know? It hurts a lot. It doesn’t seem like it’s getting any better either, but I just want you to tell me it’ll be alright. We all need a little reassurance every once in a while, and now I need to hear it more than ever.
You and I met at a very strange point in our lives. Who would have ever thought that your stories would be the one thing to bring us together? I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I first approached you that day, but I can tell you one thing, it sure as hell wasn’t this. Love has a funny way of working out sometimes, don’t you agree? One moment you’re at the top of the world, and then next you’ve hit rock bottom without a clue as to how it happened. It’s a pain in the ass when you really think about it, heh. Nonetheless, I don’t regret ever having met you. Quite the opposite actually. I’ve always cherished the time we spent together. They were a valuable lesson, and even now your words still push me forward to this very day. Saying this came without any regrets would be a complete lie though. It’s not that I regret the things we did do, but rather the things we didn’t. Looking back there was so much that I wanted to say and do. It’s funny how it takes so long to realize that at times, no? I guess that’s why they say hindsight is 20/20.
Once upon a time, I loved you dearly. You meant the very world to me, and the very mention of your name never failed to bring a smile to my face, but times change. The things that once brought us joy can just as easily bring us pain. Old friends can quickly become strangers, and before you know it all you really have left are the memories of what used to be. The passage of time is unrelenting, and though the memories are nice, that’s all they’ll ever be. That’s why it’s up to us to make new memories. Ones we can cherish in the future, though I suppose that’s easier said than done. Either way, I’ll try my best.
Writing like this seems strange these days. It’s almost kind of funny when you think about it, especially since this used to be the norm for me. Things are different now, very different, and at the same time I feel like nothing’s changed at all. It’s not a good feeling, and I think it’d be better if I just left it at that. I just needed someone to talk to is all. I’m not very good at talking about how I feel, but I felt it was necessary now more than ever. While the thought of opening up to a friend did slip my mind, I couldn’t help but hesitate when push came to shove. For four years I never once took the time to open up about how I truly felt, and when I finally did the results were horrendous. Ever since then I figured I was better off keeping such thoughts to myself. Of course, by doing so I’ve nearly brought about the end of several friendships but I suppose by this point it doesn’t really matter anymore. Nonetheless, I needed someone to talk to, and as always I turned to you. Now here I am writing some silly letter to somebody who I know full well will never read it, but as they say it’s the thought that counts, no?
I’ve been a little stressed lately. Summer plans are falling apart, college is driving me insane, and the future is bleak. My closest friend will soon be leaving to pursue his dreams. I’m happy for him, I really am, but I wish he would stay. Deep down I’d like nothing more than to have him stay so that things may go unchanged, but who am I to stop a man from pursuing his own dreams and goals? I’ve never been fond of change, mainly because it seems to bring about more harm than good. That’s all it’s ever brought as of late. People are constantly asking me about what I’d like to do, and that too drives me insane simply because I don’t have the slightest clue. Then they feel the need to remind me about how I need to decide quickly because time is constantly passing me by as if I don’t fucking know already. It seems to come so easily for the others, and I envy that. They constantly say to do what makes me happy, something that I can practice and perfect in order to make a living out of it. The first or rather the only thing that comes to mind is writing to tell you the truth. People have told me that I have a knack for telling stories, so I figure why not write them. I’ve been thinking about it a lot as of late, but thinking and actually doing it are two very different things.
Over the years I’ve had quite a lot of time to myself, and in that time I’ve written a lot. I’ve had more practice than you can possibly imagine, but I’ve never once been happy with any of my works. Last semester I took a fictional writing class too. Did I tell you that? In it we had to write our own fictional short stories, and I ended up writing about the fateful meeting between a girl and boy tied together by tragedy. The other people in my class seemed to like it, and my friend even told me about how someone had cried after he showed it to them. It felt nice to hear their praise, but in the end I wasn’t satisfied. It’s difficult to even feel remotely content with my work. I wanted to write more stories though, fictional ones to be exact. Ones of fantasy, adventure, love, loss, and so much more. I’d like to think that I have adequate knowledge of such things, but I lack the experience in the end. I wonder if you’d ever read it though. Sometimes I play with the thought of you picking up a book I’ve written a midst the shelves of an old library. It’s a silly thought, but a comforting one nonetheless. I wonder if you’d like it.
What baffles me is that you’re the first one I seek when I need comfort even after all these years. These thoughts of mine are letters. Letters that I want you and anybody else willing to read them to see. I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings. Truth be told, this is the best way I know how. I needed to get this off my chest somehow though. There is still much more that I’d like to say, but perhaps it’s best if we left it for another time.
We used to sit down and talk about how we’d run far far away together. It was going to be a magical place, one where we could finally leave the burdens of the past behind and be reborn. Now I can’t help but wonder if such a place actually exists. Was it nothing more than a silly fantasy in the end? I’m not sure to tell you the truth. There was a time not too long ago when I thought I’d finally found it, and for a brief moment I believed that I was right. Nothing good ever lasts though, and before I knew it the sanctuary I had grown to cherish so dearly had slipped through my fingers like sand in the wind. Yes, for a time I did find the place that I was looking for. You weren’t there of course, but I found it nonetheless, and sometimes I sit here wondering if you did the same. Knowing that I finally found what I was yearning for only to have it slip away seems to make it all the more difficult. I have felt so terribly sad, and while their presence alleviated the pain I now find myself alone once more. It’s easy to put on a smile and laugh it all away in the presence of others, but what am I supposed to do when I’m alone? You always used to tell me that everything would be alright, and now I need to hear those words from you more than ever.
I saw you once more as I slept. It’s been so long since we last met face to face in the realm of dreams. Things were a little different this time around. You and I were standing side by side at a bus stop, waiting as soft flakes of snow slowly drifted down from above. I couldn’t help but stare in your direction every so often, only to pull away at a moment’s notice when you did the same in turn. Even in your mass of clothes, I could tell that you were cold. The subtle shivers and the way you crinkled your nose made it all too obvious. There was also your right hand, exposed out in the snow’s cold embrace. I thought of grasping its warm embrace a midst the chilling weather, to slide my fingers and entwine them against yours, but I didn’t. Instead I idly stood by and watched you depart the moment your bus came by just as I had done time and time again in the past.
Funny how a simple moment like this can open the floodgates to everything you’ve been suppressing for so long, no? It was bittersweet, but in that brief moment I was happy. Happy to see you, feel love, and even yearn for something more. I find it a little depressing that I can only find these fleeting moments of happiness within my dreams. Everything else is nothing more than a distraction. Something to get me by before my next fix. I miss you. I miss you a lot.
They say that ignorance is bliss, but if that’s the case I’d rather bear the burdens of the truth than to wrap myself up within a lie. I am not happy, nor have I ever been completely content with my life. Regardless of everything that’s happened I sincerely believe that it’s worth living and always will be, but that doesn’t make things any easier. My own insecurities and shortcomings continue to eat away at me with each passing day, and I’ve grown numb to the various means of escape I’ve used in the past. Back then I used to find comfort in the presence of my friends. There was never a time when I spoke to them about my scars, but it felt good enough to have them there by my side that I didn’t need to. It was nice, but good times can only last for so long. Now I can’t help but wonder if my presence is so fleeting they wouldn’t so much as bat an eye if I were to disappear. The thought of disappearing is strange now isn’t it? In the past that may have been all I ever wanted, but once I found a reason worth staying for I clung onto it so desperately. Perhaps I brought this all on myself, but I can’t help it at times. There’s always this hope y’know? But as I look back nothing’s really changed for me. My emotional health is constantly plummeting in a downward spiral, and I don’t know what to do about it. In truth, I doubt I ever did.