Drinking and crying.

One word can describe me at this moment, pathetic.

Emotions overwhelm me; even though I’m not the crying type, this occasion right here, deserves every single last drop of my tears.

I’m ashamed to say, I am crying as I’m typing this. It hurts me, because I thought I had finally found peace. I had finally healed from betrayal and abuse, and you was supposed to be my solace and happy place.

This feels a little bit like deja vu. I’ve been here before, hugging my pillow, while drowning my tears, because of a pregnant girlfriend. Of course, yet again, the baby isn’t mine. It can never be mine. I’m a woman, and highly not capable of impregnating another woman, no matter how many times I push them to climax.

What’s wrong with me? Why date me when you know I could’ve never satisfied your desires of being with a child? Why sleep with me, when you know I can never give you a baby, that you so dreamed of? Why say you love me, then put me through pain?

Betrayal at its best. I’ve written a number of stories about you, never have I thought I’d sit in front of my laptop, and draft a heartbreak story, because of you.

Remember? You were my happy place. My peace, my confidante. You made me fall in love with every imperfection I had. You kissed away my insecurities, yet again, you took away my trust. You shredded it into pieces. And what hurts the most is that, you’re not even sorry.

I can hear it from the words you say to me, from the ignorance you use whenever you address me, from the happiness you express when you showcase your baby bump. I’m not saying, be angry for the life growing inside of you, I’m just saying have empathy, for the heart you’ve killed. My heart.

I’m lying in bed, my eyes red, and my vision blurry, but somehow, I can type away at my laptop, the words flow out. You’ve asked me once, where I got all my ideas for a story, I told you I dreamt them, others are just a figment of the reality we are surrounded in, and most are about me.

I’ve come to realize, I never dreamt this one particular story. Nor did I predict our time together could come to this halt and devastating ending. 


Why? I kept asking you. You failed to answer. You made excuses, and as I listened, I was emotionless. I wasn’t emotionless for the loss of you, but because I told you. You knew about her. You knew about the one who did the very same thing you’re doing to me. You promised you would never turn into her. You promised you wouldn’t take me back to that dark place.

Empty promises!

I’m a writer, with so much pain.

I’m grieving the death of my love for you, I wish I could pull through and not die along with the love for you.