The Ripped Soul

Haven't been blogging, I know. I'm sorry. Don't worry. I'm still alive and breathing, still kicking a lil bit. Not dead yet.

Ever since Sunday, life's just been hell at home. Not just at home. Life's just been hell, period.

Mom wasn't happy with me going out with her on Sunday, made a fuss over it. Wanted to see reason to why I was being so nice despite everything that happened. Why am I not being cruel and heartless. Why am I doing this.

And stubborn person I am that just won't be moved, I'd argue the hell right back. And words were said, lots of hurtful things. About me, about my dad, about her, about what I'm doing with my life, about my brother and me, and about herself.

Times like that I wonder why she decided not to give me up in the first place.

Makes everything simpler, right? Whatevs.

So stuff being bad at home, me needing to crash elsewhere before I crash myself at the foot of my block or in my room, I decided to run away. Blow off some steam and return in the morning when I feel better. Or not.

So basically past couple of nights after Sunday I'd run away to the ex's since she said her house was open to me and she'd rather me there where she knows I'm safe rather than me wandering around aimlessly in town or sleeping under a bridge.

So stayed there nights. Returned in the day. Did things that are better left unsaid.

Passion's still there. Feelings are still there. Desire. Lust. Love.

And whenever I'd go back, I'd just crave for her all over again. Fighting it off is as good as me going on cold turkey treatment. It's hard. But resisting it was harder. And we both wanted it.

Things were also said. Now we both know what we meant.

The complication was simple in words. She wasn't sure about who she was anymore. Who she was becoming. What she was feeling.

Feelings that I get every now and then as well.. but the thing is I know what I want and I love what I want, so I go after it, not caring about anything else. I don't care if I like a girl, or like a guy. I don't care if I don't like anyone. I don't care if I kissed a girl and liked it, or kissed a guy and hated it. I don't care about the labelling. I don't care about what society thinks, what the world thinks. I don't. Or maybe I do, but I can't be bothered to give a shit anyway.

I know I loved her. I love her. I kissed her, and I liked it. And I wanted more. She called it over, not really - and I wanted her back badly. I begged back for her even after she said no. Chased after her until the leash snapped and I started running aimlessly with a knife in my pocket and a bottle of whiskey in my hands. I hurt myself over it all, at the cost of love and wanting everything back. Everything like how it was back then, when things were sweet, crazy, fun, memorable and incredibly loving.

I don't know why but at the time when she said it, I felt it was a tad bit insulting. But truth hurts, so that must be the truth, right?

All's left to do with truth is just deal with it and move on.

And sometimes when she'd mention certain things I'll just rage inside. Work. Another girl. Her best friend kissing her and when he did it, she pushed him off, and the first person she thought of was me. She can't be in a relationship right now. She can't be with me.

But I remember what was said in bed. What was done. Denial burns.

You're probably thinking "sheesh jess, are you that desperate?"

I guess the answer is yes. But desperate for anyone? No. Desperate for sex? No. Desperate to be loved? No.

Just her. I just want her. Like I said back then, I'll say it again. We don't have to do anything, all I want is to be hers again, like how I want her to be mine. Like how it was. How we were so crazy for each other. So obsessed. So lustful. Loving.

Like how we both had that happiness when we were in each other's arms. That look in each other's eyes. The jealousy that flared when someone else tried to get inbetween us. But it wasn't a crazy kinda jealousy to the point of possession, just the kind that let you know the other wants you, and only wants you to be theirs. The feelings. The touch. The kisses. The intensity of all of it. The passion, the desire.

I miss that. I want that. And everyone keeps saying it won't be the same the second time around....

We're not even together and yet we're doing this; it almost feels like how it was back then. The only difference is we're NOT together officially. We're doing the unspeakable, we're talking like how we used to when we were seeing each other. There's that foundation of friendship there.

I might sound like I'm saying I want more than this fling or a friends with benefits thing, but is it wrong to ask for it?

Sigh...

I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. I don't know what's right and what's not. Whether if what I'm doing is immoral and frowned upon in society. I don't know if I'd even care if its immoral or not. Likely not.

All I know is it hurts inside. It hurts insanely. It hurts incredibly. But it's a dull pain with striking moments. It almost feels like the ache is eating me inside from within. It feels like a dead, dark void that's consuming me inside. It sucks and it hurts. I want her back. I'm STILL fucking waiting, when everyone is telling me not to, she included. I'm still hoping for a fucking miracle to happen.

But even hope fades with time. Time is ticking.

And the honest truth is I fear what might happen when all hope's lost.