“I used to make long speeches to you after you left. I used to talk to you all the time, even though I was alone. I walked around for months talking to you. Now I don't know what to say. It was easier when I just imagined you. I even imagined you talking back to me. We'd have long conversations, the two of us. It was almost like you were there. I could hear you, I could see you, smell you. I could hear your voice. Sometimes your voice would wake me up. It would wake me up in the middle of the night, just like you were in the room with me. Then... it slowly faded. I couldn't picture you anymore. I tried to talk out loud to you like I used to, but there was nothing there. I couldn't hear you. Then... I just gave it up. Everything stopped. You just... disappeared. And now I'm working here. I hear your voice all the time. Every man has your voice.”
so much of me has been spent going against my own nature. i’ve found myself in situations where, the moment (in theory controlled, sublime) feels awfully empty. and that’s the part no one prepares you for… when everything is designed perfectly, but it’s still not quite right. there’s a kind of mourning that comes with leaving this and not just for the people or the place, but for the version of yourself that tried (and very hard!) to make it work. but there’s also a freedom in it. in choosing the scary, the dissonant. in finally understanding that peace isn’t always found in the perfect moments but in the most honest ones maybe it is as simple as that-
if you’re not having fun, just leave!
