I wish I can wake up to his messages again. I couldn’t help but look at the messages, gif with kisses, voice notes from far back as December, January and February – again. I couldn’t help but cry. This feels surreal. How can people go from falling asleep to each other’s voice when afar, and then holding hands in sleep, to this? How can this even be normal?
This is painful. I can’t “mind over matter” this.
If only… if only he could bring himself to stand up and fight for us… But I guess I am asking too much of my Ferdinand the Bull (FtB). He is not the one to fight.
I guess I was brought up with this romantic notion of love. Seeing my parents married, sticking through thick and thin together, and celebrating 40 years of marriage together. Where my dad – always – chivalrously stood up for my mom. Against any criticism towards her. Be it from his family or his friends. I wish I had that. But then, I am projecting. I am demanding something that no one can give amongst our Geriatric Millennials.
What a messed up generation we truly are.
We abuse the system that gives us innumerable choices, refusing to fight for a singular choice. Too blinded by ego! We don’t realise that any one of us can die any minute… we aren’t immortal. So why can’t we just fully give our heart/our soul and fight to be with that person we claim to love through thick and thin? Why are we, so full of ego, that we would rather stop loving than fight for love? Rather hurt others than help others grow?
Will I ever find/fall-in love after this? Will I ever get over him? I don’t know. But I will try. But to think – one day he will be with another, and I will be with another – is, at the moment, a chocking, painful, heartbreaking, soul-wrecking thought.
I was about to write to him a few times. Had to hold myself back. A clean cut, that’s the way to heal… for us both… for me. At least.
I missed my train today. Was late to work by 20 mins. I feel ashamed that this is affecting me so much. Working is hard as I keep checking my phone. Every buzz makes me jump. Hope in heart I look at the screen – it’s not him. Ferdinand the Bull doesn’t fight. He’d rather be out smelling flowers under his tree.
I can’t “mind over matter” him. If only he could put himself in my shoes. If only he knew how right we are for each other – but broken apart by social conflicts, and his refusal to fight back but rather accept. Rather bend than stand up tall.
Once he had mentioned that my acceptance in his circle of friends is important. I am accepted by all of his friends – but one. Just one. Just that one and his girlfriend/partner, and their slimy ego-driven moves that made it impossible for his “love to grow”. The one who he subconsciously “seeks permission from” – as put by that friend’s girlfriend… She felt dangerous that night. She indirectly told me that she and her 45-year-old boyfriend had the strings/control to make my man dance on their command. Manipulative. My intuition went on full alert. But I refused to hear my intuition and go with benefit of the doubt. Mistake.
My intuitions are never wrong. That’s why this hurts. Cause I know we were perfect for each other. Yin and Yang – as his other best friend Felix had once noted. Complimentary rather than opposing. A dynamic system.
I can’t “mind over matter” this. Yes, I’m smiling at work, still efficient – but the pain is real. The pain lingers.
This relationship was never about sex, it was about connection. We connected. We talked for months before even kissing. I know his fears, I know his past, I know his discomfort… I know his taste, likes, dislikes – hell!!! We even subconsciously balance it off … when he raises his voice, I lower mine. And vice-versa. Harmony is not about not having arguments in a relationship, not about the frequency of that argument either – but rather how one can solve them together, not against eachother.
It’s the first time I see that I have to face and re-live every bit of what happened… to help me move forward. To help me move on. He had said something about perspective – it’s time I write down my perspective from where I stood.
This hurts. This hurts differently.