Time Spent- 14m
13 Visitors

Ghosting hurts


There is a saying that nothing lasts forever. You don’t step into the same river twice. Memory is different. Fairy tales are real for me, because I make my world. There is a Neverland in me where we still talk everyday, all day. Not all conversations need words or two people. In my head, you are here. The rain lilies in my balcony are no longer there. I deleted the selfie with a flower held between my lips, the paper crane I folded with the naive heart of a girl who believed in myths is torn, the Spanish song I tried to decode and realised later that it was foreshadowing, a message that you would one day vanish and feel like a bitter-sweet dream is deleted too.... Oh, and you are gone forever. But everything is still embedded in me. Maybe even more so than when it was tangibly present. Because things and people get more real to you when they are gone, paradoxically. I will never forget it, no. I will never forget you. You said writing should be creative, not cathartic. Huh. Here I mean to rant. I don’t care if three years back you called me out on my writing and said it sucked. Well, I do, but then I am not you. I am not a 5w6 with Sherlock Holmes-ish depth and keenness. I take joy in letting the weight off my chest even if it means waxing poetic and being a weak, boring, emo. I am not weird, I don’t speak like a robot. I am just very isolated. Think Rapunzel in the tower.

i wish you talked again. I wish we could stay friends. At least like once in a fortnight. Ghosting hurts.