alternate1985: (Default)
[personal profile] alternate1985 posting in [community profile] dear_you
Dear You,

I thought you loved me more than anyone I’ve ever known; I was proven wrong. But that’s beside the point now, because you’re gone. I was cut in half, but now all that remains is a shell encasing little more than a quarter of what was. Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy, because it looks to me like you won’t be back anytime soon.

Without you, it’s becoming harder and harder to hold onto any substance. Reality is slipping to the point that simply existing sometimes makes me wonder if I might in fact be dead already. I shouldn’t be alone in a house with no one to go to bed with, or to discuss dinner options, or to ask me to do the laundry. That was never supposed to be my life. I’m not the sort of person to handle alone the type of responsibility that this image of life requires. I would never do that. And when I ask you to explain things to me, you retreat further and refuse to answer. This world is impossible, so could it be that I’m alone in some afterlife where rules and boundaries function differently?

If one impossibility is now a reality, what else have I mistakenly taken at face value my entire life? Too many terrified instants have been spent at stoplights, waiting for you to tell me that yes, green really does mean go, the same as it always has. Too many times I have seen the walls around me shudder, my entire surroundings flicker, for they are but a fragile façade holding up a world that cannot go on much longer. Sitting in a booth at a restaurant, I am aware that I shouldn’t be there in that moment, and that the world is lying to me again. These things would never happen, being there without you, and so I know that, somehow, my attention is being diverted—by what or by whom, I don’t know. But I do know that I am being wrenched apart by the ever-more-obvious truth that each day is as inconsequential as the last. Everything blends together to the point that, often, I cannot recall what I did the day before, or where I was. Has it been two weeks since I saw this person, or were we together yesterday? Did a specific event last three hours, or was it over in five minutes? Did something I saw take place in real life, or was that in a dream?

Don’t think I don’t notice when I am consumed by the ever more pressing need to chase faces that aren’t there, and you offer no words of reason whatsoever. Though I suppose those situations surpass reason, so maybe that’s okay. But in other moments less directly related to this most important thing, I do miss having that tether. I need grounding; don’t you get that I can’t have that when half of me has flown the coop?

Sincerely,

Your Other Half

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Dear You: Letters Unsent

May 2014

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