God, god, fuck absolutely fucking shit. I said I was over you. I ripped our letters, I threw your gifts into the closet, I destroyed the flowers, I deleted our playlists and I blocked you everywhere I could; I went so far as to delete this docs slide and delete the pinterest boards I made dedicated entirely to you.
I’m pathetic for what I did tonight.
Listening to Girl in Red as I desperately wait for you to accept my discord friend request. As I so desperately wait for the chance to send you my pathetic, absolutely childish message.
I’m such a mess for you it’s not even funny anymore. I am seriously going fucking mad for you. I’m crying and I feel so enraged for letting myself slip up entirely tonight. I keep telling myself it’s just for tonight only tonight and then I’ll restart, but I think we both know I’m lying to myself.
I’ll be thinking of you again. Over and over and over.
The thing is even when I told myself I’d be serious about moving on from you, I never stopped thinking about you. You were still on my mind, though pushed back. You’re a recurring thought. A thought I never want to lose, because fuck, you’re perfect.
You’re literal perfection, or I’m just lying to myself. Clinging so tightly to you when you’ve given so many clear signs that you’re probably sick of me. I’m sick of me, too. So desperately awaiting your return. Waiting for those arms to welcomingly open up again, to embrace me and spoil me.
God, just hearing your voice one more time would be enough- that’s what I’d like to say.
In reality, it would only bring me to tears.
I can’t stand anymore of this waiting around, I told myself I was done with your shit and that you no longer want me, but even then I’m still laying on the floor where you left me over and over again, clinging to that small bit of never-ending hope just waiting. Waiting.
I never seem to stop waiting.
You’re worth waiting for, I used to tell myself.
But are you?
I know you don’t love me as much as I love you, that much is so painfully obvious. But damn it, even so, I can’t stop no matter how much I try. No matter how much I so desperately fucking want to.
Well, clearly I don’t want to stop that badly if I’m allowing myself to fall back into this endless cycle; misery and pain is all I ever get in the end, yet why must I keep allowing myself to fall? Why do I always welcome you back, when the outcome is always the same every fucking time?
You’ll never stay, this a fact I’ve longed to ignore.
But it’s true. You won’t stay. Ever. Because in the end, all you’ll ever care about is keeping from that guilt of preventing any disdain and stress to your mother. In the end, she’s all you seem to think about. I don’t think of you as rude, or selfish, or anything negative.
I try to force myself to hate you but I can’t, how pathetic is that?
No matter how many times I’ve been left on the cold hard floor after being in the warmth of your embrace, I still hug you every time you give me the chance, knowing that the cold and hard concrete ground is still right beneath my feet, awaiting my downfall. And then I have the audacity to feel in pain when I hit that ground.
Fuck, Sophia, I can’t stop loving you.
How can I?
That question doesn’t even make sense anymore. “How can I?” Well, easy as that, I lie to myself.
Claim you’re a terrible person. I face the facts that you don’t want me and put up with it instead of allowing these crappy and pathetic relapses of craving for your entire being.
It’s so pathetic.
Even worse than pathetic.
I’m such a fucking mess for someone who doesn’t want me, who doesn’t even attempt showing that they care in any way.
Why? All I ask is why?
Is that so hard to answer? I’m left without reasoning, making me feel worse. I thought I was getting used to this— the pain of being left over and over again, nothing new. But of course, I’m far from accustomed to this shitty recurring event. Because my love for you is so insanely deep that no matter what I say or do I just can’t convince myself to ever believe you're at any fault in this.
You do have faults, though I refuse to acknowledge and actually blame you for them.
Pathetic.
That’s all I can think of myself as. That word describes me the majority of the time. Especially when you’re in my head. God damn, Sophia, I love you so so much. And you will never get to know. Not ever again, because I won’t let you know. I won’t fuck up again. There will be no more “I love you’s” shared, because it hurts me most knowing you don’t interpret those words in the meaning that I say them in. So, I’m done with you. As far as you’re aware of, anyway. But fucking hell do I love you.
I love Sophia Rodriguez.
