Curing my own heartache

For a weird reason, accepting publicly that I suffer from heartache is not an option. Yet, I secretly listen to Adele and drop tears randomly. I’m surviving, yet now I’d rather live! I’m alone and away from home, and fighting to clean my mind and heart. Thus, I thought the rant below would help me alleviate some tension:

I am a contemporary woman who is actually crying for a boy. Who would’ve thought that embracing heartache would be so radical?

This is the last tear I drop for you. This is the last time I dream about us, you and me together as live travels, you and me sharing moments, memories, feelings, lives. This is the last time I pretend I don’t care about you.

I never told him this, but you all should know that I did imagine my wedding with him. White dress, colonial church, mariachis, and all those traditions that always make me return home. You should also know that I lie every time he tells me about her. I try to be open minded, even a little bit feminist, and befriend her (well, at least in a spiritual way).

I envy her for feeling those chunky lips that once made me feel that I was not alone in that unknown world, for letting those hands touch her when I still dream of those nights when the whole universe disappeared and only our bodies existed. I envy her because he’s with her, and not with me, the one who loves him. Or should I say loved him?

He’s not meant for me, I like to think every day.  I’m not strong when I’m with him. I surrender, forget about everything and give everything I have to him. I turn into this passionate woman willing to do anything to seduce him, to make him feel alive, to make me feel alive and resurrected.

Is this really it? Is it over? I’m so disappointed that we didn’t fight enough for this love, but again love means nothing to us. Us who are so scared of bringing our hands down and let life flow. Us that so many times hurt each other, just because we were feeling ‘too much.’

It’s funny that I’m scared of letting you go, ironically I let you go that time when I boarded that plane. We, Us, ended a while ago and we are still holding onto memories that reveal only the nicest of our souls. We have romanticized our past and idealized our non-existing future.

I observe my surrounding scenario and nothing is familiar, not even a single person. This should remind me that “We” don’t exist anymore.

Let’s forget about politeness for a minute. For the first time, I need to be honest to myself and face what I really feel. Now, for the sake of humanity, let’s stop saying “I miss you” when we are fucking somebody else. It’s not congruent, it’s not fair, it’s not healthy, it postpones feelings of pain and suffering.

What’s wrong with us humans that we do the opposite of what we really want?