feel

The hurt in my heart, let us call them HE. I call HE because I miss him. I talk and talk and encourage him to talk to me about his day, silence. He refuses to open up to me anymore. To the person that knows him best. Yes, it's my fault to begin with. What should I have expected after I went and broke HE's trust time and time again? Now instead of the HE I love, I'm forced to relate with a wall, the wall he's built between us. HE makes me cry. I cry and cry knowing that all of this is only my fault, and if I could fix HE I would, but I most certainly cannot. HE doesn't know what to do either, to fix our mess. It seems to me a vicious circle. Again, I'm talking, talking, talking... where is HE? Now I've got this horrible migraine from sobbing for two hours with him on the phone. I yell profanities, then calm to soothing sounds, all these tactics, trying to find the HE behind the wall that's been built. Trying to hear a glimpse of the real HE, the HE I love. Nothing. Silence. I scream at him through the airwaves, "SAY SOMETHING HE, ANYTHING! DON'T YOU FEEL ANYTHING!?"... HE responds repeatedly with... "I don't know what to say". I feel like if he loves and cares for me like he says he does then he should find something to say. This occurs, at least once a week.

So I wake up every morning, whether it be at 4am or 7am, (if I'm lucky I'll have had three hours sleep by then), and I walk into our empty kitchen. Every morning I make my Yuban coffee in my mom's burning red coffee pot. The coffee pot that has a built in filter, over which I place another, paper filter. I wait for it to beep in triplets then pour the coffee into a cup I painted with my mom. My mom who's leaving me in five days. I sit on the couch and stare at my jet black cat, sitting in the same place she has been sitting all night. I wish I could be her. I make my way back to my bedroom, lay down on the bed, and stare at my room. All the things I've yet to pack. The wall of pictures that's going to be hell to take down. I close my eyes and I don't think about HE. I don't think about HE. I spend time with GG instead. GG calms me down. I adore GG. I don't love GG. Then, something will happen. Suddenly I realize my mom really is leaving, and I want to call HE, because HE typically makes it all better. Or, something awesome will happen, or I get a new song, I hear a funny joke, and who do I want to tell? HE. I want to tell HE. Not Mom, not GG, not CC or RJ. HE listens, listens and nothing else. Nothing like he used to. And this is what I have to live with for betraying trust. I live with HE not being able to open up. Regret Regret Regret. If Regret was a one syllable word, it would have been my blog title.

HE gives me no choice. HE makes me feel so much that I need to write it out. HE makes me open my macbook at 1:31am, teary-eyed and sick to blog about HE. I still can't sleep.