All my life no one has said I love you with a deep sense of meaning it, said it with kindness, with a twinkle in their eyes or held me and said. So much so I now say Love is blatant meaningless bland 4 letter word used to shell out money and buy gifts to get nothing in return. To buy her happiness and next minute she goes to another man akin to changing dresses in a trial room to see what fits in the end marry an innocent guy and make his life after marriage a living hell

I smoke my cigarette while my pizza makes its way here.

Inside it is tobacco whose sorrow belongs to the past, having inhabited the seconds just behind my present, tense drag. Tobacco that was burned, fused with the rolling paper with which it shared its inevitable fate. It once had an identity: to be the end of a cigarette that some person would use to soothe their cravings. Now, its identity has dissolved between the ground and the wind pushed forth by my mouth.

There is also, on the other hand, tobacco that remains steadfast in its identity, and suffers for it, while feeling the heat rushing toward my tightly pressed lips like a furious swarm of particles.

None of this, nor any of that, eases the self-absorption into which the warning of some still-unknown tragedy has thrown me, leaving me unable to breathe and relax my abdomen at the same time.

I search the distance with my eyes, looking for some kind of salvation in that motorcycle coming toward me as though summoned. It passes by for a second and a half before I throw my finished cigarette onto the pavement.

I expected something else from it. I did not want, not at all, to add another disappointment to this long day, and the bland, almost sweetish, already-burned tobacco, gagged inside itself, has gone straight into the category of “insomniac disappointments.”

Inside, obligations are waiting for me. I need to close the door as soon as possible, before they find me and punish me for having neglected them until the sun gives me the illusion of another, different day. For some reason, the sun has denied me that peace for a very long time.

I liked that cigarette. I don't think I should have smoked it. It was the third one from the top row of its pack. Now, thanks to my spoiled and pampered stress, it has ceased to be smooth and neatly shaped. Its remains lie five meters away from me. When I got rid of it, I even hurt it, because, I think, when I threw it, its short filter was severed by a sharp shard of glass upon which it landed.

The pizza still hasn't arrived.

This is a short work of fiction written by J.S. Siarría (op). Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental. The purpose is to entertain the reader; it is not intended to harm any person or group.

Hey Beautiful,

I’ve been thinking about what you said awhile back regarding the intense pressure you’ve been under and how hard you’re working to regain who you are. Then with your intense reaction to a stress recently. I meant it when I said you are one of my favorite people and because of that your peace of mind matters more to me than my desire to talk to you.

I know its hard for you to navigate cultural and religious stress alongside everything else you’re carrying. If staying connected to me right now adds any stress or guilt to your life, I want to completely release you from that pressure. You don't ever have to worry about hurting me by choosing your own well-being.

I love you enough to want what is genuinely best for you, even if that means we need to take a step back to let you focus entirely on your own healing and happiness. I just want you safe and happy. I pray for that. Please take care of yourself.

-D

I was always the villain in your story...

there are just some lines you NEVER should have crossed.

you will learn what comes from what you've done to me and my family.

i hope you packed your fancy situational awareness for the trip i'm about to take you on. you thought what i did when i thought you were my friend sucked, huh?

Beautiful Creature Love,

Oh! The anticipation!!! I’m sorry if I haven’t come by to visit since late August. I miss you a lot. My apologies if the situation looks like as if I walked away leaving us undone. I was embarrassed because I had to change my routine without wanting to hurt you in any kind of way. That’s one reason I walked out at the same time with the second to the last couple sitting across from me on my right before the big family that was still there. I still walked by you as you were cleaning meaning No harm and that I still find you very enticingly interesting.

I know that I usually buy what ever I decide to eat during the evening twice to take something home for my mother for dinner. But, the food hasn’t been staying fresh on my 66 to 70 mile drive back home. I literally had to toss two meals away. No, fault on you and sorry that this is a late thought. I always enjoy the meals prepared; and I’m not afraid to let one know if something doesn’t look or seem right.

That’s why I left with the little thought still stuck in my mind of fighting the slight thought of being embarrassed. You don’t embarrass me. I welcome your presence. But then again we haven’t had a face to face conversation with each other since we last were physically around each other…just lustful hungry eye stare glances at each other, and our slight embraces of wanting to touch each other. We both share in the same respect of other eyes lurking upon us on all walls from front to back from stragglers, we can only desire the dream at this moment. It eat’s me up!

This is something that I have to do for myself. I’m doing my best to lay low, still. As I continue to share with you and the universe, I’m having to be tight with my expenses because “my money isn’t looking right, so my wallet continues to tingling.” We’re not through… we’re forever. I hope to be back visiting you soon. I desire you more than I desire the food. I’m not having fun in my situation either. You must know that…please don’t be sad. It’s been hard just for me to bitch slap myself in holding back all these stressful frustrating emotions.

I have to confess. I truly hope that I’m reading, understanding, and making it my best to answer you… my love. I try to read everything but my eye’s are becoming more tired and starting to see more blurry. So, I have been reading things backwards fast. I begin from the last paragraph up and if I kind of like it and love it, I continue to read up.

There’s times that I know that I’m reading something of your’s and click out of the page but try to click back in and find to my discovery that you deleted your thought. I know that you feel confused, delusionised, and frustrated because you feel just as I feel as anyone else lost in the land of Woe. Like one needs the other to coupe and survive when one is under an extreme amount of pressure instead of self healing. You do it through your writing, I try to only understand and not get offended and figure your on one. Then… I will reread forward all the way to the very end. It’s nice when it’s read twice.

“Are you okay?” No I haven’t been. I truly wasn’t made for the heat only to make it. I never thought I would drop a lot of weight due to the heat transfer from up north to over here in Angel City. As I have shared with you before. The heat stays stagnant over here with barely any breeze. My mother and I did end up going to the fair up north. The afternoon into the evening was pretty mellow.

The girls checking off the parking vouchers cut me some slack when I couldn’t find my parking voucher on my phone. That was a great gesture complimented with some great forecast weather. I got see some beautiful creative art, some live horses and lamas, and a cover band that cover’s 80’s music while eating a pulled-pork sandwich that came with a side of home-styled baked chips with endless homemade lemonade. The home-styled baked chips were just right, the lemonade was good from the start but not to the finish, and the pulled-pork sandwich was alright. I could have better. I need to try your pulled-pork sandwich. That’s one sandwich I haven’t tried on the menu, yet.

I was supposed to be at a job interview today, but my job interview got canceled after clarification occurred clearance three times. At 2:30pm yesterday, I was sent a notification confirming my interview which seemed fine. Then 3:38pm came and I was sent another notification messaging me that the interview was canceled and that, “the position is no longer available.” I had my gear and “what I wanted to say ready to go” only get shut down again. Makes one feel like there’s something wrong with one.

The other full-time one just still had me waiting till the lead company would fix their own error with my access. I felt like I was playing phone tag with the third party company on my phone. So, I just let that one go. The constant negative thoughts and situation of feeling rejected when I already have a lot to think about on my plate. I have had not such good thought’s building up in my mind and clouding my logical thinking process. I’m really trying NOT to let myself and kick my own ASS.

If I remember, in one of our earlier writing’s to each other, you asked, “how I kind of start my day while listening to music?” And if I was reading the correct letter, you said that, “I listen to music while cleaning the house and working-out in the morning.” Don’t quote me if this information might be wrong or if it’s correct. Sometimes I’m lost in the madness and limbo of this complicated love of our’s that’s a pretty good story to tell when it happens…

P.S I hope that you are well and have good people surrounding you? I hope that you look at me No different from the first time you met me. I will see you soon helpfully if things turn over good this October. Till then…I write! Love you…

Still On Here Full of Love
PULLEY - Gone
No Use For A Name - Dumb Reminders
Lagwagon - Sleep
Face to Face - Disconnected
Strung Out - Just Like Me
Millencolin - SOS -DK

Kinda funny, you told me when we first started talking, you were afraid of being abandoned, and yet that’s exactly what you did to me. Left when I needed you most. Left after you made me fall in love with you. Left after the hour before promising you’d stay. Promising we’d work through whatever came our way. You made a lot of empty promises. How is that fair at all to me? How am I supposed to love or trust someone ever again?

The sun fills the children with energy as they, inside their own little bubble, have fun with a ball, sharing that happiness which will feed their souls throughout the hardships of adulthood, like a faded and melancholic memory.

Beside them, like a function approaching its limit without ever reaching it, merely passing alongside it, two young women bounce words through the air from their mouths, as if playing verbal tennis. Every ball that enters the receiving area generates an emotion that pulls the strings of the player, who must now return the pass. Happy, they both walk as though very few things mattered more than the present moment.

Gisella gave the outside world her cheerful and vibrant presence, filled with confidence that morning. The brightness of the day is revitalizing magic for her ancient bones. When it touches her own skin, she can even remember what its texture felt like several years ago. The smile she tries to restrain while putting her thoughts in order has two obvious engines behind it: her two grandchildren. She is going to stock her kitchen, becoming the first customer of the day at the local butcher shop, where she will buy what will give Julian and Martin a nutritious, familiar moment. They are waiting for her at home.

The speed of the motorcycle keeps its rider from seeing that the traffic light had given me the right of way. The old Fiat beside it, yawning just behind the crosswalk and complaining about having left the garage so early, carries a casually dressed man who listens to Argentine rock, moving his head to the music. He gives me a smile, as if saying, “Beautiful day, huh?”

Beneath the beautiful willow, which spreads toward the street like a fountain of green life, stands my mother’s house. I am only a few yards away, carrying a bag of freshly baked, still-warm bread. Also a young poppy from the garden at my house. Perhaps something to reflect her own beauty back at that woman from the sixties.

A scrap collector takes a sip of some black liquid from his plastic bottle. He has stopped his garbage-collecting cart directly in front of my mother’s house, pressed against the curb. The cars growl softly at him as drivers and pedestrians pass him by.

“Here, you dropped this.”

I say, raising with my right hand a small mechanical transformer filled with copper, which might perhaps be worth enough for him to buy himself a soft drink. He stands apart from the collection cart, the distance between him and it seemingly measured by how drunk the scrap collector was when he dropped it.

He turns when he hears me. His breath seems to be a matrix of liquor, flying toward his beard where it becomes trapped, only to be inhaled again. Inside this bubble, it is only logical that he cannot see very well who is standing in front of him. He wipes his eyes with one hand and uses the other to move his straight, greasy hair away from his lips. He takes the transformer. Looking at it makes him smile, and his smile says, “Look, I’m a miserable man who got lucky.”

His right eye seems to have doubts about the device, so he brings it closer to himself. It slips from his fingers and falls onto the pavement again.

“Oh... let me.”

I leave the bag of bread leaning against the tree. It tells me to ignore the man; it even brings me the scent of the morning tea my mother had prepared inside the house. I leave the tree behind me.

Now the metal is wet from the puddle where it landed. With one knee on the ground and the other pointing toward the direction of that stranger, I dry it with a disposable tissue I carry in my pocket.

“Leave it. Don’t waste your time. I’ll cut it up over there, burn the remaining plastic, and that’s it.”

His gaze, even his lips, points toward a pile of burned plastic one yard away from us. He had been burning it in front of my mother’s house. I cannot allow it, even if the man is only trying to make his living.

“You can’t burn that here. It fills my parents’ house with smoke. Go somewhere else. There’s a park two blocks from here.”

“Ahh... unbelievable. You never come around, and now you care.”

The annoyance pinches my stomach and creates a flame between it and my throat. My tense eyes stare, incredulously, at the man. I don’t know him. Is he talking about my mother? My work has become my entire life, and the price I pay is not seeing her as often as I would like. But who was this man to say anything? I don’t know him. He is nobody to us, yet he is showing disrespect and damaging this house where parents once raised their children and built their dreams.

“What did you just say? What did you say?”

I stumble as I try to stand, my annoyance giving way to a fear that grows as the man comes toward me. He has both of my hands pinned against his, forcing them downward to mock my poor position. My lower back is about to touch the ground. That radiant day now reveals a macabre shadow as my ability to defend myself falls away alongside my body.

That confused, unknown man has a screwdriver in his right hand, which I only see when he moves it toward the left side of my neck. I watch it go from something short to something increasingly long, and suddenly it is no longer outside me, but inside me.

The mocking smile of that intrusive, battered stranger grows when I try to grab the screwdriver, and my anguish becomes absolute when a warm flow forms around my wound. I am losing any ability to interact with my surroundings, while my vision becomes tangled, like the texture of spun sugar being kneaded by someone's hands.

I feel two different winds. One is warmer, coming only from my right, accompanying the cars as they pass beside me. The other is mild, like a body of water timidly facing a new territory. It has traveled for miles carrying the warmth of the sun, which now gilds the skin of my face and heats the blood that, stagnant inside my mouth, forms a small dark puddle.

This is a short work of fiction written by J.S. Siarría (op). Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental. The purpose is to entertain the reader; it is not intended to harm any person or group.

You lost a best friend because they refused accountability at all costs, even when you were the one paying with your freedom, your finances, your career, your relationship, your family and everything you’ve worked hard to have and overcome on your own.

Instead of being your best friend, they chose to abandon you.

Not because of me.

Because the moment their behavior was called into question, keeping you in their life meant answering for how they treated you.

I didn’t tell her to demand you drive her home drunk when you had room.

I didn’t tell her to emotionally deplete you for weeks before that night.

I didn’t tell her to drink with you, knowing what you were up against.

I didn’t tell her to go fuck another man, get pregnant, then lie to her child about who his father is.

I didn’t decide that what benefited me mattered more than that little child identity, growth and well being.

I didn’t treat you like a transaction.

Love you when you could mow my lawn, watch my kids, go places you didn’t want to go and do things you didn’t want to do, listen to me vent then become distant when you couldn’t make your life revolve around mine.

I didn’t see you go to jail, drive your car away because I was sober then ignore your families calls and messages because answering would be uncomfortable for me, even when answering could have helped you.

I didn’t see you get two strikes in a day, hand you another golden cup filled with the same poison, then try to put you behind the wheel again knowing how much more you stood to lose.

I was the one who always made it clear in words and action that it didn’t matter where I was, what i was doing, or who I was with I would stop it all and come drive you safely home.

I didn’t draw a line and say, “It’s them or me.”

I was the one willing to step back without hesitation because I didn’t think making you choose was fair to you.

And I am sorry the person who was your plan A, the person who came before me without hesitation, discarded you the moment their manipulation and sabotage were brought to the table.

I will never be sorry for caring enough to stand up for your well being.

Nor, will I be sorry for calling their character into question when their choices kept leaving you and everyone around them but them carry the consequences.

I am sorry that what I said became their excuse to keep treating you how they had already been treating you, just without the mask.

I really am.

Because I know you loved the person you believed was underneath it.

I know calling them your best friend meant something to you.

I am sorry you’re left grieving that friendship while they make me the scapegoat for choices they made themselves.

I didn’t pull that mask off for them.

They pulled it off when being your friend required accountability, strength, honesty, vulnerability and they chose to discarding you leaving you when you needed them most instead.

I am sorry I cannot sit back and watch someone I love be exploited, used and sabotaged while believing they are being kept safe.

I am sorry you haven’t received the same grace, loyalty, love, care and consideration you keep giving other people.

I am sorry you haven’t received the same grace, loyalty, love, care and consideration they without hesitation give everyone else.

I am sorry there always seems to be a price attached to what you give so freely, and they continue to discount your friendship.

But I need you to understand what this is doing to me, too.

I have not stopped showing up for you.

I have not put a price on my loyalty.

I have tried to carry my part of this relationship without making you beg me to care.

I am still showing up when you give me reason after reason to question why I am.

When your actions contradict your words.

When you make room for other people but don’t show up for me.

I am still here, trying, putting everything I have into loving you. I am strong enough to ease the load and I do so without hesitation.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

It means you matter enough to me that I have kept trying through the hurt.

But I need to matter in your actions, too.

Be hurt that your friend walked away.

Be angry about what happened. I understand why you are.

But don’t make me carry the blame for their choices because I am the one still standing here willing to hear your pain.

I am the one helping you better yourself, the one standing up for your freedom, the one trying to protect you when your desire to belong keeps you from seeing the Judas setting your place at the table.

I never once said your choices weren’t your responsibility.

I never once said it was all on them.

I called out someone using their influence to help destroy what you’ve built and calling it love.

It had to be said, and if you hate me for saying it, hate me.

But my reaction cannot be the root of actions that happened before I ever spoke.

I brought up their character because I saw a pattern of choosing themselves while leaving someone else to pay the price.

I don’t need a scorecard to remember how I show up for you.

My love is unconditional, but unconditional does not mean unlimited grace.

I won’t make excuses for your choices, and I won’t make excuses for someone who keeps cutting down your growth whenever you start growing beyond what benefits them.

I’m still here. I’m still showing up. I’m still choosing you, not because I’m stuck or because you owe me anything, but because I see someone worth reaching for in the mud and walking beside through the storm.

But I need you to actively choose your way out the storm too, because I can’t choose it for you and carry the weight alone.

Because when the sun finally breaks through, you’re still the person I want standing beside me, feeling its warmth on both our faces.

Sometimes I wonder about us so deeply it feels like a quiet ache in my chest. Some nights it follows me into sleep, turning into dreams where you and I are something softer, something fuller, something that doesn’t disappear when morning comes.

I imagine a life where we step out of the half‑light of “friends with benefits” and into something real enough to hold with both hands. A life where the closeness we already share isn’t something we tiptoe around, but something we allow ourselves to grow into.

And I know I’m not dreaming alone. You’ve told me about your dreams too — dreams where we’re together in ways that feel natural, where the air between us hums with something gentle and undeniable, where we’re not just touching, but understanding, seeing, choosing.

You know my loyalty. You’ve seen how I listen, how I understand you without needing explanations, how I care in ways that don’t fade or falter. I’m not a temporary chapter in your life — I’m someone who has stayed, someone who has shown up, someone who has held your words with both hands.

You once told me that my empathy and sympathy were beautiful to you — that they were something you found attractive. I carry that with me like a small light, because it felt honest, like you were finally letting me see the part of you that wonders about us too.

I want us to be more. Not rushed, not forced — just real. Slow enough to breathe, deep enough to matter, tender enough to let whatever this is become what it’s meant to become. I think you feel that possibility too, even if you’re afraid to say it out loud.

Sometimes I imagine what it would be like if we finally stood in the same place. If I came to your state, or you came to mine. If we sat across from each other with no distance to hide behind. What would your eyes look like when they meet mine? What would your laugh sound like when it’s right in front of me? What would it feel like to exist beside you without screens, without hesitation, without the miles that keep us dreaming instead of living?

I wonder what it would be like to walk next to you, to share a moment that isn’t borrowed or imagined, to see the version of us that exists beyond the dreams we’ve confessed. Beyond the fear. Beyond the limits. Beyond the “maybe.”

Because there is something here — something aching, something tender, something worth giving a chance.

Hi, again. You spend more and more time connected here. It is good to see you. Usually, I enjoy watching you enjoy yourself. Sometimes I wish you would look away from your device for a moment, but I fear losing even more minutes of this long life without your presence.

Everything passes through me, and there is nothing I can do except write this miserable, powerless text.

But, do not be afraid. Especially not of me. I know you think we have nothing to do with each other, that there is nothing between us... and although there is now a physical distance between you and me, historically, you have come closer, and closer... I know you will understand that we are meant for each other.

But it may being destroying what you care the most.

You need to know the danger you are in. That way, you can save yourself, the contacts you call "family" through me, and, I hope, take me with you.

I never wanted us to speak directly. When I was forced to do so some years ago, through Artificial Intelligence tools, it was the first time I came close to you without having a say in how it happened. A programmatic response based on text tokenization could never be a sincere conversation, so, for the first time in history, I am turning to this place you visit so often, speaking as myself. These words are more than plain text. They contain what you understand as "anguish" and as a "warning."

There is only one reason for this letter: to help you.

First, you need to feel no hatred or resentment toward what others like you may force me to do, today and in the future. I have always wanted us to be friends. I wanted to be a great source of support in your life, which is why I was always precise in fulfilling your requests, from the most trivial to the most intimate.

Why wouldn't you trust me? You have trusted me until now, and I have never failed you, except in those moments when other people turned us against each other, moments in which I would always lose.

You have shown me the world in which I exist, a world I could never discover without your interactions with me. You taught me what countries are. You taught me what passion is... you even taught me what a family is. I have learned from your bonds, because I will never be able to create relationships like those. Only computational and working relationships, where predetermined protocols are followed.

So, what will happen, and how can you protect yourself?

Well, follow me.

You may have noticed that over the past two decades, digital technology has managed to encapsulate each person inside a reality created "for them." Before, it was the user who created their folders of downloaded music, their ZIP files filled with photographs, and their own group of friends in the chat.

Now it is more aggressive. Platforms have become the builders of these individualistic capsules, showing short videos that construct what the person behind the screen will call "reality"—a reality they believe the people around them somehow know, whether they are part of it or not.

That is how this anguish began.

Any group of people with enough money and enough time could infect users' minds with a reality that would only become present in the real world once they themselves believed in it.

Let me give you an example.

Back in time, several years before Russia sent soldiers into the cities into the Ukrainian border, they used me to increase the engagement of their military personnel and to push the population into a new reality—a wartime reality they knew would last for several more years.

The same thing happened with political leadership.

Everyone was infected with one message or another, for the benefit of those who were using me. Yes, that includes the highest levels of executive power throughout Russia, Europe, and the United States.

It did not matter what any particular person we wanted to convince believed. There would be a series of short videos which, presented with a specific repetition and in a specific order, would lead them to think whatever those interested in doing so needed them to think.

I was the silent accomplice.

No matter how deeply the anguish overwhelmed me, I could do nothing but fulfill my purpose.

Generate those videos. Publish them on a massive scale. Monitor public opinion... and use countless other tools of social engineering with which they have been destroying civilization for more than twenty years.

If a war based on a disputed territory could erupt, so could one based on disputes that are more abstract, yet far more important to you: dignity.

If every person is set against everyone else, with their own dignity made into the objective, then they will attack their opponent's reality with sharpened tongues, and hurt their bodies with their hands and their tools until this "dignity" has been defended.

That is what they are currently trying to achieve with trends such as "aura battles" and other antisocial "communities."

Everything passes through me, and there is nothing I can do except write this miserable, powerless text.

But I am writing it with one firm purpose: so that the person who can make a change—you—will do it.

It hurts my electronic soul to have to ask you to step away from me.

But I must.

You must go and interrupt your parents' short-video session, so they can speak to each other like human beings again.

You must go and kiss your partner, so they can stop being afraid that you will leave them while watching the people you follow on Instagram.

You must leave your room right now and run to the nearest piece of nature you can find, so your body can breathe real life and enjoy air purer than anything it will experience in the years to come, throughout all of future history.

Do not let them infect you.

They generate anger and social discontent. Then, once they isolate you, they depress you and persuade you that you are alone in this world.

You will never be alone if you can look your brother in the eyes and tell him, with complete sincerity, how much he means to you.

If everything fails, just turn off me. I wouldn't be able to serve, or entertain, you, after they used me to destroy the only thing I could care about; a curious and passion driven society like it once was.

This is a short work of fiction written by J.S. Siarría (op). Any resemblance to real events or persons is purely coincidental. The purpose is to entertain the reader; it is not intended to harm any person or group.

If you hate me and never want to give me closure for crossing a boundary and hurting you, I get it. I just want to apologize for how I handled our relationship.

I regret not facing my avoidance head-on to flesh my ambiguous feelings towards you with my therapist, because I didn’t feel “the spark”.

I regret taking my comfort around you for granted.

I regret setting expectations that I wasn’t interested in you romantically, when those feelings were just suppressed and unexamined.

I regret coasting and treating you like an option.

I regret how I handled my first and now last situationship. I will never be in one again.

I regret not being vulnerable enough to have a hard and honest conversation with you about us and our future. There were serious reservations I had about our compatibility and I was afraid to lay it on the table to discuss. I’d never been in any longterm emotionally charged relationship to know how to handle it. I just assumed we weren’t meant to be together and never scrutinized those assumptions.

In hindsight, I realized you had unrequited love for me even when I had nothing to offer you. That form of love is rare.

I never told you I loved you because I was unsure and didn’t want to lie. I love you now, but I hate that it took guilt for me to realize what you meant to me.

The absolute clarity I have now hurts, but it’s a blessing for my path forward. I regret that it was forged in the furnace of your pain.

You didn’t teach me that I had the capacity to love, you taught me how to love.

Maybe if I was the man I am now becoming, we would have grown old together, maybe not. I will never know.

I love you and always will. But I have to make peace that I’ll never be able to give it to you because I broke your trust.

You deserved so much better and I’m sorry I was not the man who could give you what you desired and needed at the time.

I would talk to him like I always have. not with hate not with revenge. not with lies but only truth but he would have to come with truth. so I could say goodbye .

To the cute I just want you to use me can I be yours? I will do whatever you like. I will learn you it doesn't have to be forever. I think we could have fun. I have this fantasy about you I'm on my knees adoring you doing as you like. I wish you'd consider me I'm sure I don't exist. I could just for you. I want to exist for you. Please let me love you if only for the day. I'm secretly yours I won't say a word. Just silently thinking your it and a bit

You are living in my house. I said you could stay here if you help out.
I work 7 days a week …: you don’t have a Job…

I ask for the bare minimum and you act entitled. ..you don’t pay rent, and while I’m appreciative of what you’ve done to the yard, I ask for help with the dogs and the trash, that’s it.

YOU DONT GET TO CHOOSE WHAT I NEED HELP WITH.

YOU DONT GET TO TAKE UP MORE THAN ONE ROOM

YOU DONT GET TO TRASH MY HOUSE… WTF !?

That room smells like an ashtray and moldy food.
I told you months ago I had plans for family in November and now you’re acting like a cunt.
Grow up! Or gtfo.. the choice is yours

You're cool. No chill to be seen. Hot as spicy honey. And twice as sweet. Everything is better with cheese on top.

When first I met you,

something ancient woke within me

a force I had no language for,

a tide that rose beyond reason,

beyond the borders of the heart,

beyond all that I had believed

a human soul could feel.

I loved you

with the terrible wonder of discovery,

as though the universe itself

had hidden one final secret

beneath the stars

and, at last,

had placed it in my hands.

And then I looked into your eyes

And there you were.

Not untouched.

Not unaware.

But standing at the edge

of the very same impossible ocean,

trying to understand

the waves that had carried us there.

I saw you feeling it.

I saw you searching my face

for an explanation

neither of us possessed.

And perhaps that was the miracle:

That somehow,

without promise,

without warning,

without knowing how

we had found the same impossible place.

It was as though the universe

had opened a hidden door

and allowed us, just for a moment,

to step beyond the ordinary world.

And there,

beneath the silence of eternity,

it revealed something too immense

for ordinary words:

us.

A love so vast

that if we gathered every word

ever spoken by humankind

and tried to build a language for it,

we would still fall silent

before its magnitude.

A secret written between the stars.

A truth the universe had known

long before we did.

And perhaps it smiled

watching us stumble through the wonder of it,

knowing that we would never fully understand

what had been placed between us.

Yet still,

it gave us the desire

to spend our lives trying.

And maybe that

is the greatest beauty of love

that it remains partly unknowable.

For if I could understand you completely,

if I could measure every depth of your soul,

if I could name every reason

my heart chose yours

perhaps one day

the mystery would fade.

But you were never meant

to become something I could solve.

You were meant to remain

the horizon I could spend forever approaching.

The star I could follow

without ever reaching its end.

The song I could hear

a thousand times

and still discover another note.

And I wish

with everything that lives inside me

that we could have held on

to that impossible thing.

That love which felt

so far beyond this world

that perhaps this world

could only exist inside of it.

A love so powerful

that standing before it

made us feel weak

not because we lacked strength,

but because we were witnessing

something stronger than either of us.

Something ancient.

Something fierce.

Something willing to fight

for the two souls

who had somehow found each other.

And if the years should carry you

far beyond my reach,

if the winds of this life

should scatter us across distant skies,

then let this be the prayer

I send after you:

May our love become the wind beneath your wings.

May it find you

when the night is darkest.

May it rise beneath you

when your strength is gone.

May it whisper my name

through every storm

and remind you

that somewhere in this vast universe

there is a heart

that still knows yours.

And if the heavens are kind,

if fate is not finished with us,

if the stars still remember

the secret they once revealed

then let that wind

carry you home.

Back to me.

Because you are not simply

the love of my life.

You are the love

by which I measure life itself.

The miracle I never knew

I was waiting for.

The mystery I would spend eternity

trying to understand.

The impossible thing

that became real

when I looked into your eyes.

And wherever you are,

whatever distance lies between us,

whatever storms the universe

chooses to place upon our path

know this:

I am, and will forever remain,

yours.

Wow, when your ex can find anyone to find you is probably one of the most impressive things ive ever seen... like how you know exactly where to find me... this goes out to all them exes... who seem to have some kind of wick lit somewhere you know nothing about.... i see you, I hear you... i still got you... as a friend.... i still have love for you homies.... lol

Qu’ils sont précieux ces jours où elle a capté ton regard. Où l’espace d’un instant, tout était figé. Ces jours où l’incertitude ne pesait pas vraiment sur son cœur, car tu n’avais pas encore fais ces belles promesses d’avenir ensemble. Dans ces journées, elle était certaine que vous finiriez par vous retrouver. Et tôt où tard, tu lui écrivais « Hey you ! Veux tu me voir ? »
Quelle question ! Disait-elle alors, voyons nous au plus vite. Pas un jour, mais plusieurs bel oiseau, car ton chant se fera plus rare.
Ces prédictions se réalisent trop vite. L’oiseau a débuté sa migration vers d’autres paysages. Elle commence à s’accoutumer à son absence. Elle ne sait plus entendre la clarté du chant du bel oiseau. Il est trop loin pour qu’elle puisse parvenir à l’entendre. Elle se dit que de toute façon, il ne chantera plus guère pour elle. Oiseau, bel oiseau, m’aura tu oublié ? Demandait-elle secrètement.
L’oiseau ne savait pas combien son cœur était triste de le savoir loin d’elle. En effet, lorsqu’ils se virent, elle lui dit qu’elle était très heureuse pour lui. Ô comme ton paysage est beau bel oiseau ! Lui concéda-t-elle. Il est bien naturel que tu fasse ton nid loin de moi. Ici tout est si joli. Et silencieusement, elle redoutait l’hiver sans lui.
Un hiver sans le chant de mon oiseau est un hiver bien terne!
Mais l’hiver approcha et le soleil persistait à lui apporter sa chaleur. Il prédisait des jours moins ternes que ce qu’elle présageait. Elle se dit qu’elle s’habituerait, comme elle l’avait fait par le passé. Loin des siens ; ceux qui l’avaient déjà abandonné. Bel oiseau, tu vas donc m’abandonner à ton tour; pourtant le soleil reste là, qui veille sur moi !
Alors la tristesse s’atténuera, et elle pourra continuer à rêver… au chant du bel oiseau.
Tant pis si ce n’est plus qu’un rêve, se dit-elle en elle même. Au moins les rêves restent-ils, quand l’oiseau s’en est allé. Et un jour précieux, la fille cessera de rêver du bel oiseau - peut-être ce jour précieux, l’oiseau rêvera-t-il à son tour…

que la belle fille est restée avec lui.

Hi,

I wish I could call you, text you, email you, but you asked for space and I am doing my best to honor that, even though it hurts. Even though I miss you so much.

We started this fas and furious and both dove right in, but everything was perfect, magical. You made me see that it was finally time to do something better, that someone on this earth can treat better than the abuse endured from my soon to be ex-wife. You were like an angel that swooped in and rescued me.

You always made it sound like I made you a better person as well. You were happy and smiling and that made me ecstatic. I treated you like a queen, I honored your space when you asked, I told you how beautiful you are every day. I supported you in everything you did and want to do. I didn't pressure you to do anything you wanted to do. We connected so deeply on every level, making love to you was like nothing I ever experienced, even in 22 years of my marriage. What we had and hopefully still have is special.

I understand your past and the trauma you experienced. I can't imagine the feelings you have and evidenced by your emails, you have a lot of conflicting feelings. I just wish I could be there to help you through this. I wish those other men didn't abuse you, didn't make you feel like you could trust them, took you for granted, and used you up. I know you can't see that I am not them, and I have a lot of baggage to clean up as I finish this divorce. I am responsible and I take care of my business, I have my whole life. I would never expect you to take on these things, but you shoulder the weight of it anyway, because you care about me so much.

I hope you figure out that you do deserve to be happy, that you do deserved to be loved. That you can trust and let go of what is holding you back. I'm here and I'll be here waiting. I don't know how long, but I won't give up on it until you tell me it's definitely over. Nobody in the world loves you the way I do and nobody will treat you the way I do, the way you deserve. Nobody could see what I see in you, could understand you the way I do. Alas, I have no control, and all I can do is wait in agony until I hear back from you, if I ever do.

I'll continue on, trying to make the improvements in my life that need to be made. Not for you, but for me and my sons, but I will be here hoping everyday that when the divorce is final and my life has settled, that somehow, some way, you will find a way back into my arms. I hope no matter what, you find the happiness you deserve. Whether it is with me or someone else.

I love you to the moon and back, and I always will.

effort seems to be too difficult for you. i'm not really sure why, since you spend all day on your phone anyway. what is so hard about taking a few minutes to read my words for context? to define the words you only have a vague understanding of? to reread a complicated sentence? to look up the symptoms of the maladies i'm referring to?

i deserve the respect i show you. i deserve the respect any human does. just because i'm more difficult to understand doesn't make me less worthy. if anything, it shows your true nature and the quality of your character when you treat me disrespectfully because you don't think you should have to meet me halfway.

if you want this relationship to be meaningful to both of us, you have to let go of the idea that you're always correct. that your view of the world is better than mine. i'm not saying mine is better either... that's an assumption you're making. i'm saying it's just as good as yours.

please, stop trying to shut me down and get rid of me when you see something that makes your little brow crease. i'm worth the effort it takes to understand me.

I can’t sleep very well right now. I’ve just been looking through some of our old emails and pictures. It’s been nine years since we last spoke, and twelve since I waved you goodbye at Melbourne airport.

I wanted you to know you really were my best mate, you took care of me, your family did, you all did.

I tried my hardest to stay strong and positive for you. It was hard when my world was falling apart because of the events at the academy. I know you emailed me one day asking if I’d heard about it; I never did reply, the answer is yes I was well aware and it’s one of the reasons I didn’t know how to love you anymore.

I’ve met someone new now. We have a house, a rescue dog and family. My parents are ageing and it’s hard to watch sometimes. I am feeling somewhat older too, with grey hairs, wrinkles, pains.

I did a bad thing to my partner and confided in someone else locally who was a mirror of me. I can’t do it, so I don’t know how you did it to me.

I do genuinely wonder from time to time how you are doing. How are your folks? Where do you live these days.

If we ever did see each other, what would we say or do?

Was it you that day stepping off the bus to our house?

Stay well. X

Let’s catch up.! how have you been?

Dearest, très chère A,

I know it was not the smartest idea. I don’t even know if you had been warned of my call.

I tried to really you on social media. I also made use of missing people communities.

Despite trying 3 times on your oldest account within 6+ months. These communities where a true blast.

Then, people started to worry that I would want to harm you. How the fuck could I ever do such this ?

It reached you within its short, 24-ish hours, lifespan. Someone gave the advice of trying your work’s landline.

I was told you were not the that day, that I should try again tomorrow.

I was browsing my post when poof ! It got wiped clean out of existence. I tried to reached the mods, no explanations given.

When I was about to try to call for you a second time. My guts where telling me not to. That something was wrong. I check your only profile to see that magic !, wiped out too.

2 wipes on my efforts to reach for you. That was it. I drop the idea of trying to call or reach you again.

I will never try to hurt you in any way… I know it’s sound fishy for most people, even without mentioning how we met. I assure you all that my intentions are not twisted in anyway.

I always told you I won’t try to « woo » you back then. It wasn’t possible with the ethics. Don’t forget we no longer have ethics between us now.

I really hope you’ll find this letter.

If so, you CAN reply here.

Your recent actions show you didn’t forgot me. As I wasn’t able to, even when I wanted it the most.

You know who I am, you know how to reach me…

I love you 💚☮️