"Because."
Because thinking of Rob still makes me cry.
Because people don't understand the process of grief.
Because I left everything for you; and you left me.
Because Loyalty is more important to me then being well liked.
Because I have such little trust.
Because I'm 19 and I feel 45.
Because I let you play me.
Because the truth is he hates you.
Because the truth is that she hated you.
Because the truth is no one can stand it.
Because the truth is that I'm so jealous of you; of everything you have, because of everything that fell into your lap so easily. How no one dares to tell you to shut the fuck up, to your face.
Because no matter how much I say I don't care, it hurts that you'll always belong more than me.
"Because."
Because "because" is really unfair to me. It slides me into it's arms and holds on tight. It squeezes me, leaving me light headed and delirious. I'm trying to leave my "because" in the wind. To allow the friends that I've lost and left slide off me like a sleeved silk blouse. But there are times when I stop, when I look back, when I miss you.
I set my eyes towards Art. To London and Wales and Ireland and the cliff of a Thousand Men. To Paris.
I struggle, trying to decide if it's worth keeping a tight hold on to a few friends, whom will no longer live around me, or to try and maintain the full 125 relationships the human brain is capable of.
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In other news,
I can write again. It's been so long, a year at least since I've been able to write on command. It feels like I can breathe again. Deep, dizzying breaths.
Dans mes rêves, j'ai encore te regarder mourir.
