Earlier that week, Van and I had a talk. And basically, I told him that it was too late. And I had kind of been numb to everything. I just didn't want to feel anymore. So it started off fine. I was cleaning, listening to my mp3 player, listening to the list of songs that I had made for Van. And I got sadder and sadder. And then I just couldn't hold it anymore. I couldn't handle the pain, the disappointments. It was just toooooo much. I just started crying and couldn't stop. I was bawling at some points. Vanessa came up and asked how I was doing, and I couldn't even talk. I couldn't tell her. After about an hour, Van finally came and carried me upstairs. And I just laid there curled up in fetal position, crying. Crying for the loss of a dream. My prince, my fairytale... Ugh. It was so sad.
So, finally having let go, I've been able to just let things be. I still get disappointed. I still get sad. But now, it's like - whatever. It is what it is.
And, surprisingly, it's been good. A part of me keeps wanting to be sad. I've been so used to being that way, so comfortable being there, that it's a natural pull. But, then, I tell myself that I need to just believe the good, the happy. It's purely my choice whether I want to be happy or sad. And it's my choice whether I want to show my love or not. So, I've let go of the pride. I've let go of most of the sadness. I just pour out my love freely now. And it feels good. But I guess it feels good because he's there to catch my love. Perhaps before, he wouldn't have been there, and my attempts would go unnoticed. Unreciprocated. Because he's changed too. He holds me more, he holds me longer. He tells me he loves me. He texts me that he loves me.
It's all good-good?
Not all the time. But most of the time.