The Unbearable Rawness Of Truth

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I really hope you know that I never wanted to hurt you, and I hate myself for doing this to you. I want to crawl back to you and make it better, but I can’t make it better. I am full with regret and self-hatred, and I need to get it out from where it flows in my blood, tainting my heart and slowly dragging me down. If this is the consequence of love, I may as well become a nun right this minute. I refuse, however, to accept this, to sit back and let this be true. I’ve given up so many of my dreams, and I need a lifetime of proof to accept that this is all love causes. It can’t be.

I, in this present moment, have an answer to the question: “What is there to live for?” – in fact I have many answers. I can live for the rest of my life if I have an answer to that question.

Anyone going through a breakup will have been able to tell, from the first line, who that letter is to, and what it’s about. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from all this, it’s that you can only do what’s right by you, and nobody can really ask anything else of you, and if they do, they don’t love you.

Stay strong. Write letters and burn them in a fire. Tell the truth. Another thing I’ve learned is that life tends to go on, even when your internal clock has frozen.

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Queer librarian blogs mostly about books

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