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The Burden of a Unopened Message
You wrote me. And I didn't know what to say. I saw you had messaged me 2 weeks before. Silly me, I never use Facebook. It's been 2 months since I said I couldn't take it no more, after 2 years of trying to be your ride and die again after we parted and not fully getting it back.

Then you making your last minute decisions to want to make it work while still limiting us, by the time I'm finally emotionally drained. Not all the times I begged for another go. I know you can't help it. I know you didn't mean it. You have no malicious intent. Not like the lovers before you. You just have a brain injury. No one understands that. It's very lonely with no friends who understand what I've been through with you. I'm so drained. I want a good man, but my heart finally feels used up. Everyone lets me down. How can I trust another man with this fragile heart of mine?

You wrote me. And I didn't know what to say. I see the date. October 9th. I'm almost humored. That past two weeks I have been stuck in the sweetest of memories in my head playing like a movie. Of you and the sweet things you used to do. All the care and tenderness. I find it funny you were thinking of me too. I reflect on the bond I have always known was between us. Deep enough to not just have touched this life, but a past life.

You wrote me. And I didn't know what to say. All I could feel was the pain. Did I mention it's Halloween day? You always did have a knack of always ruining the holidays for me. One of the things I always considered one of your more fatal flaws. Because you knew I loved the holidays, but you would still bring me down. But this time, you didn't know you had done it.

What could I say? How could I evade? I feel my weakness for you, the uneasiness. The echoing of you wanting to discuss, to see me. So much pain. But I want you. But I don't. I want freedom. Freedom from this pain. What could I even say?

You wrote me. And I didn't know what to say. Now weeks have gone by, and to my dismay, guilt has taken me hostage.

I feel anxious, and quick to cry. The darkness of depression has overcome me, I don't know why. Every day I think of what to write you. A month and half has gone by, I feel terrible for no response. I don't know what I want. The burden of multiple heartbreaks over the years has left me distorted. I can't bear to be without you forever, yet my heart feels too tired for commitment. I give and I try until I am dry. Love is lost then found again, And then the cycle starts again, with me in the end set awry.

You wrote me, and I didn't know what to say. It's been a evasion on the fuel of frequent mental energies. I have realized this is an unhealthy burden and I must reply. I know I have no obligation for a response, but out of respect for love I must acknowledge someone who once cared for me. Out of respect for thee. And out of respect for myself, because the weight of your unopened Facebook message sitting there is tormenting me.

I opened your response, and had slight dismay, seeing your response potentially written by the hand of the bottle. But still I self sway, it was I you had been thinking of at the same time as I was thinking of you. I write my response veering towards the path of honesty. Reminding you the burden of pain associated with our lost relationship, unsheathing the other burdens taking place in my life, and a slightly pouring of my feelings on how I am feeling on my day to day life. I can't help it with you, for some reason.

You wrote me. And I didn't know what to say. I barely know where I am at, but I finally wrote you back. And I was as real, and as raw has I could be while I'm stuck in the fog. I care for you so, I made it known. I also made my guarded heart know. With the unpredictability of your brain injury, my anxiety is still high from time to time. Wondering if you hate me or understand me. Understand what the damage of this relationship has done. I implied in January, we could potentially meet. I guess come January, we will learn a little more about this love. For better, or for worse. I must remain on my guard.

Internet copying is a problem for artists and writers. Please respect my work it comes from my heart. Written by AEN92

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