can I still write you?
I felt fine when I’m home, for once. rarely happens isn’t it? well, we’re long breakup so who else can I rely on except my family? I was okay for the first year but not for the years after. anger, disappointment, rage, and all of those negative feelings toward my family slowly rose again. I slowly returned to my old self, the teenage me who saw the world as anything but a nuisance.
no worries okay? I’m now in a better place. no, not heaven. at least not yet. I’m now living far away from my family. it takes six hours for them to meet me so no worries. but the attachment issues that I have slowly eating me alive. I used to cling to you right? and then when we break up, I was back depending on my family but now I have no one in this damn city. I started to cling to my friends but now we are graduated, so to whom am I gonna rely on, then?
it started with room decor. I think if I decorate my room a little bit, it would have such a homey nuance. I wouldn’t gonna miss my home and the people who live under it. if I bring so many things I used back at my home, I would never experience home-sick, at least turn it down. jokes on you it doesn’t help. well not that it didn’t help at all, but it was just as soulless as me so I’m not quite comfy. I keep praying I have someone like you again in my life and that would be better and I don’t have to buy all of this crap.
then my gadgets. I’m still attached to them so much that I have a problem with my attention span. I watched every kind of thing that Youtube provides me. I switch to TikTok and it more sucks than Youtube so I barely open it. another crap.
books. I know we both love books. you with your weird taste in books and me with my sappy romance story. I’m looking for the joy I used to have in every book I’ve read. Though I hardly find them, I still collected and bought them every month with my allowance.
then paper and pen; iPad and his pencil; my fingers and the keyboard.
I love them, I cling and rely on them as if my life gonna ended the second I didn’t write. my memories are bad so I keep us by writing everything I could remember. whether it is a letter, another story of us, my diary, everything. everything I could keep forever as long as the paper doesn’t get wet, my iPad still working, and my fingers were not tired. and through this, I’m gonna indirectly ask your permission,
can I still rely on you as you are in my writings?
can I keep you as long as I want in my writing?
can I have you, the better you, the best you, even if it is just my imagination?
