Naaawa ako dun sa may-ari ng katabing locker ko sa office. Tumunog yung cellphone nya at ang ringtone nya ay napakalupit na, "where do broken hearts goooo?"
At some point I thought this Tumblr blog was ‘too public’ and I created a new one — a blog that can only be viewed by people I actually knew IRL.
It was fine until I broke my heart again.
There are several reasons why, right now, I refuse to share my heart issues with friends. It’s the holiday season and everyone is still in the mood to celebrate; I doubt if they would appreciate someone whose intention is to darken their mood with her petty love problems. Aside from that, I find it difficult to open up to people. Sometimes I feel as if I’m being a nuisance to them, and so I just keep my thoughts locked up in my head… but the main reason why I refuse to talk about it is because, honestly, I really don’t know what to say. How do you translate pain into words?
No matter how much I deny it, the truth is, my heart is wounded. I hate him for leading me on, for making me believe that there is something to hold on to. I hate myself for believing him. For months I thought there was something special. I want to put the blame on him so I can have something to hate, but no matter how much I try, I eventually forgive him in my head and channel all the hate to myself. Was I desperate, or was he really an asshole for making me feel extra special and then leaving me in the end?
Why do I find myself returning to this blog whenever my heart gets all torn up? Is it the ‘anonymity’ that draws me into pouring my heart out, knowing that I can continue facing the real world with a smile still plastered on my face?
*aggressively collects money in a video game*
*never buys anything with it*
Ask your female friends, if you have any, if they’ve ever walked home late at night with a key pushed through their knuckles, just in case, if they’ve ever crossed the street to avoid a stranger, just in case, if they’ve ever taken the long way home because of the weird guy on the corner, just in case. Ask them if they’ve ever made up a boyfriend to get a guy to leave them alone, if they’ve ever gotten off a train car and moved to the next because you just never know, if they’ve ever shelled out for a cab because men like you were at the bus stop. Do you really want to be that guy? — Emily Heist Moss, “A Letter to the Guy Who Harassed Me Outside the Bar” (via executiveproducerdickwolf)
(Source: psyche-delisex, via thefuuuucomics)