The moment I almost burst into tears when he was in bed with me. I knew, I could let go of this. This intricate romance that only manifest itself with the most energy-saving torch. I’ve prepared myself to leave it from day one.
I carefully counted how many times we’ve met. How many times we’ve slept together. How many times he said anything complimentary, even when it ends with doubt or sarcasm. How many moments I felt happily in love, before the feeling vanished within one instance.
The time we were lying in bed with the meditation music, weirdly and stiffly holding hands. No, our bodies were soft, but the act of holding hands was stiff. The grapefruit scent is flying in the room, from something I only bought to slim my body, not his.
30 minutes before that, I almost burst into tears.
I knew for sure, I was prepared for our separation, no matter when it will happen. I’ve been preparing for so long.
But I don’t want to leave him. Not yet.
I’ve came to understand my inability to express myself, to maintain a light-hearted mood, to succumb to fundamental needs, to show the deepest vulnerability, to get mad at people, to say stupid things and cry, to forget about work and focus on the person in front of me, to get comfortable with being rejected or ignored.
All of the things I couldn’t possibly do in relationships.
Not only in relationships. I couldn’t even show investors how hard I’ve worked. I want to be able to share my hardship and struggles, but everything was kind of belittled when I talked about them.
On top of my inability to maintain a disciplined life, to focus and always deliver like a machine, to not take indulging moments as a relief for stress, etc. All the things I’ll excuse myself of being imperfect with style.
When a hopeless moment hits like now, I write.
So I can go back to work.
maoa 