Lonely at Three
Written at 3:09am:
I’ve been cursed. I don’t think sleep will come to me at this hour. Every ounce of empty space gets filled up with thoughts of her. Lying in my bed, I could picture her in hers and I feel lonely. I realize that I would never be able to share a bed with her; to feel her warmth beside me, to hear the steady sound of her breathing. I feel abandoned and forgotten. I miss her like I would if I lost a limb, feeling her there but knowing that she isn’t.
I know I have a fault in this. I just wish she could be more forgiving. But I guess her love for me could only take so much shit before it finally ran out. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry that she’s afraid to get hurt again and I’m sorry that I’m the cause of that pain and, most of all, I’m sorry that I’m not worth the sacrifice anymore.
Still, to me, she is worth everything. I continue to plan my life as if she were a part of it, delighted that she’s every much connected to every hope and every wish and every prayer. I know I’m only putting myself up for disappointment because in the end, she doesn’t really give a damn about me. But I am willing to take a shot no matter how painful.
I love her even though she could not trust me anymore and even though she had broken mine. I understand her insecurity and I’m sorry I hadn’t done enough to make her feel otherwise. I was wrong in thinking she could handle things. Heck, I was wrong in thinking I could handle things.
At this time in my life – twenty-two and alone – I feel like I’m at the lowest point of it. I couldn’t write like I used to. I don’t smile like I used to. Everyone notices how sad my eyes are.
I miss the way she makes me feel alive even if she was a thousand miles away. I feel her energy abound in our conversations, I can feel her smile from her words. Now, however, I’ve lost her. I called her several times before and I felt the deadpan of her tone, like an eerie chill in the dark night.
“Subscriber cannot be reached” was the message I kept getting when I called her up seconds ago, wanting to plead for her to take me back. I never knew I could sob at the reality of that recorded message, knowing how true those words meant, that our connection was finally lost.
I remember she used to ask me what I missed about her. I always said it was her smile. I look at our photos and see how happy she was, how happy we were. But now I know that I would never see them because any interaction with me brought contempt to her face (or even disgust); her expression as cold as the concrete walls she’s built between us.
