P.S.

there’s one thing you don’t know. You hurt me, sometimes. I’m sure I hurt you too. But I almost never tell you, when you do. I still like to bask in the pain. It gives me goosebumps and the tears are so sweet. I like crying for you, knowing you don’t know I’m there. You don’t know I’m hurting. It’s like putting my feet in the ocean. The endless water could swallow me, and I just sit there, feet in the waves, looking at it, feeling it warm my whole body up to my head. Turning my brain back to that endless pit of pain it once was, but just for a while. Then I cry it out and my tears fall into that ocean until I get my feet out of the water and walk away. “I am not suffering for you when there’s so much I can do on my own.” I know it’s a bitter thought. Doesn’t make it less true. And it’s still better than telling you that you hurt me. I get over it eventually, anyway. It’s no use. It’s not important. When I get hurt it’s never important. It’s dumb things. I don’t really care about them. (And I say this while crying, every single time.) Most of the time I just wish that you would have told me before. That you took a decision. That you’re doing something you do not want me involved in. Instead of finding out because your friends tell me they’re sorry I couldn’t make it, or because you post it in the work chat. And those are not even the things that make me that mad. What really makes me mad is that I care so much about stupid stuff like that. I am so mad that I get upset over it. And when I try to tell you, you answer so simply. “But I’ve seen you yesterday.” “But I’ll see you next week.” That is so not the point that I just give up even trying to explain. I just say yes and go back to my pain ocean. We understand each other, we spent so much time together. Swallowed one inside the other. I sit on the edge of that pit. I stare at it. It doesn’t stare back. It’s endless. But it feel so sweet to put my feet in. I love it more than anything.

Image from: Eniale & Dewiela by Kamome Shirahama