you are my happiness

you

 

I need to write because my mind is restless and going a million miles an hour and yet nowhere at once.

A detour. That’s what he said I’m taking; he’s taking one road and I’m taking a detour but someday we might be on the same road again.

Oh Heavenly Father above, I might love him. And this hurts so damn much.

But he’s going to get better, and I’m going to be right here–being whatever he needs me to be while he puts himself first for the first time in his life. In a way I am incredibly proud of myself for acknowledging this, for knowing that I can’t be selfish and stay with him. I can’t ask him to try and put effort into this when he can barely put effort into himself.

He thinks he’s failed me, he couldn’t be more wrong. I wasn’t lying when I said he made me happy–hell he still makes me happy. I don’t think that feeling will ever go away. I’m going to try and be his friend, I have to try or else I might drown in this feeling of regret.

God dammit I regret this so freaking much. I didn’t want to do it, I still don’t know why I did it when I obviously want to be with him.

No, no it was for the best. I have to believe that or I just might break. I have to hope/pray/wish whatever the fuck I can do to believe that he’s going to be OK. That someday we will try this again and it will be even more beautiful and profound than it had been in the past.

What is it that they say? If you love something set it free, if it comes back it was meant to be? Well yeah that, I need to hold on to that.


 

him

 

 

I like the way he would never use my actual name and I always knew he was referring to me; but I also like the few moments my name would slip out of his mouth and how strange the consonants and vowel sounded to me.

I smile at the little things he does and it was in those moments that I liked who I was when I was around him–I loved who I was.

And yeah he’s not perfect, I never expected him to be. I never wanted him to be; I just wanted him to try and he did. And from this I gained a feeling I still don’t understand myself.

But holy shit he’s beautiful. So goddamn beautiful that you can’t help but cuss. I found myself actually speechless at times hearing the most provoking thoughts escape his mind–he’s the kind of boy they write screenplays about. He’s everybody’s muse and doesn’t believe it even for a second.

He just wants to make me happy and I couldn’t put into the right words that it was him. He’s my happiness, through all the fucked up mess we went through I could still feel the thrum of butterfly wings whenever I looked at him.

He’s the moonlight to my blinding sun.

 

 

 

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