letter to you.

You linger. You're always lingering. It's as simple as a scent that I'll pick off someone, or seeing an item that causes you to instantly light up my memory. This sorrow holds me as tight as you once did, you know. Though it's considerably less enjoyable. The ghost of you waits in the shadows, waits until I'm unsuspecting, then it unleashes itself. You're haunting my dreams. So much, that sleeping has become a burden. Was there ever a time, when you believed in us? Was I as naive as you'd like to make me out to be? If I honestly thought it would make a difference, make you take me back, I'd tell you all of this myself. Now I know though, that there is nothing that could possibly get through to you, and I've realized this after I let down my wall of hope, held up by sheer denial. There are times now, where I feel so lost in things that are so unfamiliar. It makes me feel a total helplessness, so much that I just want something I know back. If it were for the better, I wouldn't feel so hopeless. You said it'll take time, but there doesn't seem like there is nearly enough time in the world to heal the wound you left behind. You were my protection, my goal, and the love of my life so far. That includes all people, places, things, hobbies, or foods. It wouldn't be too far of a stretch to throw life itself into that list. I feel weathered, and old. I feel like I know too much, though all the wrong things. You'll never know this, because you'll never lay eyes on this if I can help it. Even if you happen to stumble across this, you may read it, then continue whatever you were doing without a second thought about it. Figures.