I never understood how I could feel so deeply and yet so simultaneously empty.
You call me compationate. Empathetic.
You say that I hurt so much because of how much I care.
What If I told you that I couldn't feel any of it?
How everytime you cried on my shoulder, all I could think about was my now soggy shirt clinging uncomfortably to my skin.
How all of the advice I give feels hollow.
When I say that I love you. How do I explain that I would not hesitate to walk away? How I wouldn't look back even if you dropped to your knees with tears running down your face.
I do not need you and although I fall fast, I can turn it off just as quickly.
I may love you, but my love isn't the same as yours. It's not soft like yours.
It is eager and desperate and wild. My love is a forest fire, burning quickly, destroying everything that it touches, but it dies fast and in the end all we're left with is the ashes.
You will not find a home in me.
I exist in the extremes. With the racing hearts and hurried touches and the false promises of forever.
I exist in the cold spot of the bed, In the rain soaked highways and abandoned buildings, with the empty cigarette packets and the last drop of vodka in the bottle.
There is nothing permanent about me.
I wish this feeling could last forever...
The fluttering of my heart. My heated cheeks. The excitement in the bottom of my stomach when I hear your name, but I am fleeting.
I can only exist on the edge, walking the tightrope of these emotions, because if I fall too fast in one direction there is no stopping me.
I will become a tornado, a tsunami, a forest fire...
There is something so natural about the disasters I cause.
And when I wake in the morning, I won't feel a thing.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
