I’m writing from Christmas. Yes, three days since you left. From the past seven days, it’s finally Monday, and I’ve only started feeling that yeah, I am gonna be fine. Today, when I woke up at 1 in the morning, it felt as if a big weight has lifted off of me. It felt light, as if the tears have finally drained and my face is ready to dry. In these past two days, no matter how short, it felt like the longest two days. Though it felt like my only escape, I couldn’t sleep well. And I guess the alcohol might’ve helped. But I still found myself awake again just before the sun rises. Before dawn, the sky is at its darkest, and that’s how I felt these past wakings, it just so happened I didn’t find any salvation when the sun finally did rose. Writing from Christmas morning, I feel… well, relieved. And normal. And unsure, yet certain. Decided yet hopeful that there might still be a chance that you might return to my days. Someone must’ve really prayed for me big time. I’ve finally convinced my body and my heart that they have to live every day after without a single word from you. And from the first time in two very long days, I really believe I can.
Like Evan Hansen sang, “We could be all right for forever this way.”
Still yours despite everything,
Merci pour la lecture!
Nous pouvons garder Inkspired gratuitement en affichant des annonces à nos visiteurs. S’il vous plaît, soutenez-nous en ajoutant ou en désactivant AdBlocker.
Après l’avoir fait, veuillez recharger le site Web pour continuer à utiliser Inkspired normalement.