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penelopie wilson

penelopie...

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translations

outside the sun is no more. the moon is hidden by clouds. the rain has slowed to a steady mist. the temperature hovers at 32° with a windchill of 22°. it’s fall, but fall brought with it a touch of winter.

it was cloudy all day today. rainy. off and on the sky spit out a few snowflakes. the weather cried with me today. it was beautiful. i didn’t feel quite so alone.

the chill in the air matched the chill in my heart. it left an ache in my bones that matched the ache in my soul. we were one today, nature and i.

i remained in bed for most of the day, only getting up when absolutely necessary. as i laid in bed, i stared out the window into the the backyard. watched the rainy fall day pass me by. watched the rain trickle down my window as the clouds cried with me, all day long.

i fought the urge to send him a message. off and on all day long i would come up with stupid reasons for why i would need to contact him. a question that i’d need answered. something i’d think he’d need to know. i’d get my phone and bring him up, begin to write…and then close it all out. i am many things…but i don’t want to be that.

i don’t want to be desperate. pathetic. annoying. i don’t want to be that woman. the woman who doesn’t know when to leave, when to walk away. i don’t want to be the woman who stays where she isn’t wanted.

i don’t want to beg anymore.

i miss him. i want him to change his mind and come back. i will welcome him. but…i don’t want to be the woman who has to beg for affection and love. i’m not worth it. i accept that. since i accept it, then i need not beg for it ever again.

and while i am, in fact, needy…i don’t want to come across as needy. i don’t want to be needy. the best way to fix that? stop being needy. so…i will stop.

it’s hard. it’s hard to quietly accept what you are handed when it isn’t what you want. it’s hard to not reply. i am supposed to be writing a reply, but still can’t figure out what to say…or if it will even do any good. what’s the point?

what good is a reply now? he doesn’t give a fuck what i have to say. he doesn’t give a fuck about me. so…opening up and allowing him into my heart…replying…will not help anything. he’s gone.

i lie to myself when i say that he will come back. he won’t. when people leave, they never return.

and just the thought of him never coming back sends me into a panic attack that i can’t…

i can’t breathe.

i can’t breathe.

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