Don't worry, I'll learn how to buy flowers 🌹
Este post está escrito en dos idiomas y dividido para facilitar la lectura.
This post determines the closing of a cycle, the closing of a love, the closing of a lack of love, the closing of a distance.
It's funny to talk about the versions of me, there are many, all of them in love I guess. I never stopped feeling love in any stage of my personal growth, although I did feel a lot of loneliness.
I was always slow, just like in math classes, I had trouble multiplying when I was in fourth grade and I always relied on my colored pencils. I suppose that in adulthood the substitute to support me were some people that I believed that they loved me or that I did love. But I still felt mostly alone.
I remember once I promised myself never to cry for a love again. But what love was I really talking about? There are so many kinds of love and it's inevitable, they all break you at some point.
But I choose to be honest and confess that I am heartbroken, at least that's how I've been feeling for a few days now. Although I know I may be lying to myself and this feeling has really been lingering for a few months now.
I was between the uncertainty of whether to love, to love you or to love me. Sometimes I would win one and sometimes I would win the other, but they were all about love.
I called you my serendipity and prayed to heaven that you were not an ephemeral light. I was nervous I admit it, my hands were sweating when I was always by your side.
Then I aimed for the second option, the one that said I should love you and so I did. My love was clumsy and sometimes rough, but it never hurt you, at least not in a deep angle.
I felt inside me a flurry of burning emotions, I felt warmth when I was near your gaze, it may have been corny, but I was in love. I bet on the task of loving you and I seriously applied myself to it.
I thought I knew and I knew nothing. I wanted to believe that the language of your love would always be rough, I wanted to make myself believe that your language of love was remoteness and anger. And yes, I really convinced myself to believe it.
I adapted my love to other languages, distant and empty languages. I didn't receive love, I didn't receive flowers, I didn't receive words, I didn't receive letters. And I got used to the definition of a love that looked empty, where all my efforts slipped through the cracks, where it was worthless.
And although it was hard for me to understand that it wasn't healthy for me to be by your side, I always wanted to hide those truths from others, so no one would have to ask when I came back. I lost everything that was once a part of me for a long time, my art and my own inner music.
I would tell others that I was happy, but I know they doubted. A love doesn't make you feel insecure, incapable, small. Love doesn't feel that way and that's something you know.
Separated by thousands of miles, maybe even millions, pretending we were still together in the same room. Maybe those same miles were taking away my life or adding years, one of the two.
But I changed my strategy, by God I did. It was no longer to love you, but to love and to love me, but the change hurt a lot. I looked at you out of the corner of my eye, your image was distorted. I understood that it bothered you that I was ignoring the abruptness of your love, which is perhaps also a foolish love.
I no longer wanted to fool myself as much as you did and I decided to let you go. When I did so my love language was also beginning to distort, I had caught on to your habits and it was painful to change it.
I am still trying, it still hurts to change it, but I do it anyway. I learned to buy myself flowers, write me letters and tell me the words I never received from you.
I don't know if I lost so much or so little. What I do know for sure, is that I don't plan to keep losing by your side.
I will not talk about this, I hope, ever again.
❥ Icon of my divider here
❥ Signature made in canva
❥ Translated with the help of deepL
❥ Photo edited in Adobe Photoshop CC
