My car drove off and left me stranded. My clothes took themselves off and left me naked. My life moved on without me.
You give and you give; you bleed to make everyone happy. You sweat to ensure they’re all comfortable.
And then you forget yourself.
You hold on – you fucking hold on O so fucking dearly to all the memories you had with them – you cherish both the memory and the person, and you do this all the time. You expect the smile that comes with eternal appreciation, not for what you did, but what you are.
But you still end up broken because you notice that you’ve forgotten about yourself. Every-fucking-time.
You haven’t used the second-person narrative approach in a while; you chose to forget yourself, and now yourself has given up on you.
Categories: Conversations with Myself