Open Letter of an Abandoned

When I have pain, I need to write. Words are forming and I already feel less alone. With the pain that I have tonight, in me, I think I can write a book. Not a few dozen pages, no, but something like Les Miserables de Victor Hugo.

Miserable, I am. I find myself in front of this sheet and I am as empty, it seems to me that I have nothing. I lost you. And I do not understand almost anything. Do not leave me in my ignorance, tell me what has changed in you since Thursday. I feel so bad that I can hear everything, understand everything. Indifference is the worst answer.

The other time, I even believed in happiness. He held out his arms for a moment, stroked my mind, touched my thoughts. Your words surprised me, rocked, seduced, reassured. But the love is unfortunately illusory, fragile is too ephemeral to have time to enjoy, even to capture it. Time, moreover, stole everything. We offer him our open hearts and he exhausts them, crackles them, empty them, ice them, locks them in terror, then naturally, hides the keys, somewhere. I am not even 18 years old and I am already embittered and bitter by love. Tired. Do not want anymore.

Despite our two worlds so separate, so different, despite our two incomprehensible lives, I had the stupidity to believe in it, thinking blindly that with you, nothing could happen to me. The further I go, the more I feel I'm backing down, seeing the seconds come off a timer; both of us it was a low-end Utopia. Now that I have opened my eyes, that I am at the foot of the wall or rather at the edge of the abyss. I blame myself for having hoped that happiness existed, and especially that it could be eternal.

Suffering is rooted in me like my own organs, like the blood flowing through my veins as if nothing had happened. Your words last night, so calm, so serene, so cold, poured the hardness of pain into my soul. I did not think that such a big void could exist, even in this absurd world. I am divided between moments of extreme euphoria and sudden forced landings imposed by an intelligible world. I regret so much that I have not been strong enough to know how to keep you, not to deserve someone to love me. If all is over, I will not be able to see you again, at least in the immediate future.

I told you "I love you" because I thought so. I know it scared you, though, I tried to make you understand that I was expecting nothing in return, only your usual soft gestures, your caresses, your sweetness. Today, I am deprived of all this and I have the impression to suffer. Who under? Suffer what? To undergo the weight of absence, of indifference, to undergo the solitude that crushes and clasps me.Time passing is said to erase wounds. So I'll wait for the days, the weeks, the months it takes for it to work on me, even if in the moment, I do not feel that it's over, maybe it's the trap. When we love, we never know when it's time to leave.

I am a little lost. This ink which I pour, but which you will never contemplate, helps me to put my ideas in order, to classify them. Me who gave me without restraint, I am now on the reserve. Everything is activated, everything is fading, everything is fogged up, lost, regrouped. I think back to us, to our meetings, our cinema sessions, our nights, our delusions, our confidences. And again, I can not believe it's the end. Deep within me, I dream to make you suffer, a revenge very consistent and painful. I want you to regret leaving me, that you come back. And I want to have the strength to reject you. I hate you. I hate your friends, your habits, your feelings, your detachment, your independence.

Tomorrow, it's back to school, I'll meet again in this high school, face the freezing cold of others, all these people who like us, do not know where they go, why, for whom, how. It's absurd and pathetic. At least, when you're two, you feel stronger. Fragile, flayed, in distress, I have been since I had the misfortune to fall back on the scent that I carried when we were together. I have to deal with the painful phenomenon of reminiscence. I feel it secretly as I cry. Abandoned, I am. But what is the use of moping, on a sheet that can not even answer, and that in the end will not appease my pain, if my future is not in fusion with yours?

I'm naked, I love you so much, but I'm so lonely too ...

Leave Your Comment