Moar emotional spillage.

Okay, so this is something that I wrote a while ago. I can't capture my frame of mind at the time, but I read over it and by golly if it isn't a bad piece of writing. It's something non-WoW related and it's something important to me, so here it is. And yes, reading over it, what an emo kid I am/was. Whatever.

Bah.
Melancholy is a natural product of boredom.
You know, I wander this familiar place, and somehow it resonates with the despair that weighs so heavily on me.
Each room a testament to the unchanging hours, each feature a visible sign of life marching on, leaving me behind, stagnating.
It’s a pity, really. There seem to be so many people in this world. So many beautiful people, so many faces, so many stories to hear. And yet it seems difficult – nay, impossible - to break into any new lives, any new stories.
“We are both lost. But for a moment, we’re lost together. I wonder who you are.”
I wonder why I insist upon treading ground that has already been mapped out.
Am I so desperate for this monotony to end that I will look for release in places that I know held none?
I guess it ties into the deep, deep want of being a teenager, and indeed an adult. We want love. Is it so wrong of me to desire what I once had, even though all evidence – all logic – shows that I cannot have what I once had with him? Would it be wrong to go on my blind, primal need, and take a chance?
I do believe he loves me, and that he never stopped loving me. But can I stand his touch? Can I forgive him for what he did to me? He attempted to destroy me. What’s worse, he did so in such an off-hand way. It was as if I was nothing, meaningless to him. And now, the old, old feelings emerged when I saw him. But the hate, the implacable hate, that was there too.
Can I stand to look into his eyes and behold the mind that could wreak such havoc upon me without mercy? Can I enjoy his hold when I think of how those arms wished to crush me? Madness!
And yet, a part of me wishes to perpetrate this farce. Deep down, I do want this to work, but I know it will not. Deep down, I want another one month relationship. They are what I’m used to, they are what I like. But then what, after the month? Well, he almost destroyed me. I suppose it would be just desserts to crush him because of this, assuming he means what he says when he says he loves me. Assuming – although I doubt even he is this evil – that this is not a ruse to hurt me further.
Still another facet of me wishes for him, utterly, completely, and entirely. It wants that old feeling, that feeling of being complete with him. The majority believes that I can never reach this state again, with anyone. It was destroyed, and should be a feeling mourned and moved away from. But still, that part of me hopes for its return.
Yet another part wishes for him, but only to be mine. It views him as a possession, a prize. A competent, devious mind utterly devoted to me and only me. Yes, this is domineering and probably sadistic. But it is a pleasant thought nonetheless.
And another part – ah, the part that frightens me – wants him dead. It howls for his blood spilled, his attempted annihilation of my spirit repaid tenfold upon his body. This part has held sway for far too long. I do not know if I can stand against its desire.
Perhaps, part of me reasons, perhaps he is not aware of what he had done to me. If, over time, we had remained close – ah, how I wish it were so! – There would have been no doubt in my mind that we would be together again. But in seeking…
I honestly do not know, cannot fathom his motives. My assumption is that it was the whim of a jaded, bitter, bored mind. And that is unforgivable. I wonder if he realises.
Then, of course, my original reasons for ending our relationship. The distance is something that I find insurmountable. If I cannot have what I want around me as much as possible, I’d rather put it out of mind so as not to suffer in the interval. It was impossible then, and it would no easier now.
I am at war with myself. I only know that the only communication that can work between the two of us is face to face, and I know that I am not to be trusted in such an environment. It is such a struggle – and this was underestimated – to be in the same room as him, let alone address him. I spoke one word on Saturday. “Pass.” The effort required to speak that one word, and no more…it almost broke me. I did not know if I would have fallen into his arms or broken his neck. I still don’t.
I’m so fucked up.