Fortes Fortuna Juvat

At times I could only wonder what I’ll think of next

You know, the saddest part about being a man is the honesty that runs through your conscience. You don’t want to admit to it, nor do you want to own up to it, yet it patronizes you every waking moment. To have courage, and the valor of even having somebody who cares about you is what shapes a man, and molds him to be something he could’ve never expected to be. When you love somebody, you feel like you can’t really express it. You can’t summon up the words to truly express what you feel about them, and when you do-it’s a jumble play on words. As if walking through the world was hard enough, spending each and every moment wondering where she is, and who she’s with tends to be a weighing deity. All you hope for is that she’s happy, even if that means to sacrifice your own happiness.

Life without her has been hard, and I’ve grown to separate myself from her tight grip. Her guidance and her worry seemed to just keep me afloat, along with her immaculate independence that always carried her to be something truly remarkable. She lets it all go to waste; her depressive acts make me wonder over and over if she’s okay. “What will she do today to put her on the positive note?”, I always seem to ask myself. I tend to just forget sometimes, and then it comes back haunting me in the end.

Within my transformation, it’s given me some time to think about who I want to be. I want to be a man who sacrifices, stares death in the face-only to laugh, a man who will be dependable and responsible. I want to be a man of virtue and respect, somebody who has been instilled with a keen sense of discipline, and has a prestigious sense of accomplishment. As I stand before myself, I haven’t achieved any of these things, nor do I have the accommodations to use as stepping stools to get there. I don’t blame her to leave.

I was an alcoholic, depressed, and angry individual with a lot of hate in my heart. I let my demons get the better of me majority of the time, and I loose myself within my addictive personality. I was addicted to her, and I still am. I tend to use justification as a crutch when I talk to her. I know I shouldn’t talk to her, because I know I’ll fall for her again-because it feels too right. Is that how somebody should feel when they love somebody? When your entire world is falling apart, and they’re the one person to pull you from it; when all it takes to make you smile is that one simple word, “hello” over the phone.

We have changed over the years, for the better. It’s an honest excuse for the damage I suppose. When you’ve been through what we’ve been through-what I’ve been through, everything sounds like an excuse to hurt you. It seems as if life is only sending an angel to only take her away.

It’s nights like these I wish I could run into my car and drive the 800 miles to see her face, knowing damn well I’m in the wrong and not having a care in the world. I treasure the nights I got to lay with her, and stroke the brunette locks of her hair within her sleep. To hear her say good morning was the refreshing breath of air, and the smile I used to wear so avidly. It was what made me be so cocky, and be so inconsiderate to her likes and needs. It soon led me here, to be so alone and angry.

I can’t imagine the world I would have led if only I could just be in her reach again. If only I could have just ended my destructive reign, and reside in her bed, to be comforted by her touch.

As I sit here, and I dig deeper and deeper, it becomes more apparent that things will never be the same. I haven’t met anyone who comes as close to her, or strikes my interest as fluently as she did. She was the real deal, and it’s over. So much of me wants to chase, but I would be a dog chasing cars. I am a dog, in a uniform, waiting for his day.

I am desensitized to a point where pain is relevant and real pain is irrelevant. Where orders are the oxygen I breathe, and execution is the prevailing exhale. I am only a machine now, and things will never change the stress and mental struggles I’ve have to succumb. At worst, I am a lovable boy. At best, I am an honest man to those who love me, and myself.

I miss my other half; I’m sick of being lost. However it goes, it’s too late for redemption; my time is up and has been up. As hard as it is to accept the truths of my fate, it needs to be done.