She finally speaks the truth

Here I am writing a blog which I will now treat as my diary. I think about all the times I laughed at other people who treated their blogs like diaries and now I guess I know how they feel like.

Well, here I am. Wishing you wouldn't fall asleep so soon. Wishing you'd call me because my heart aches to hear your voice. Wishing you'd walk through those doors I keep glancing up at. It's ridiculous and crazy thinking you'd be here. But my heart doesnt understand why you're not here. She doesn't understand and there's nothing I can do to make her understand. She speaks a different language and I know she races when she sees you. She screams sometimes you know. She screams and she hurts me. She's like a toddler. I hate that she hasn't grown up, unlike the rest of me. There's the brain- now there's a sensible one if I've ever seen one! And my mind isn't too far off, perhaps only slightly immature but oh that silly heart of mine.

She keeps asking me "why won't those doors open? Why isn't he here?" But I don't have an answer that would make her understand why you're not here and why those doors won't open. Sometimes my mind follows suit and it's chaos. My body can bear stand all that chaos and so she cries at night. Her heart follows suit and howls ever so sorrowfully, mournfully. Like a lonely wolf by the moor.

I hate myself for a lot of things. I hate that I keep wanting to change the past. I hate that I'm not content with the beginning even though I'm happy with the present. But I can't help but wonder if I would be happier if the past was done differently. Would I have turned out differently? Would we have met?

I think about that often. I wonder why you still love me after everything I put you through but I thank god you still do. Because explaining to my heart why you will no longer return will be hard and I never ever want to do that. Ever. Never.