It's raining outside. Noisy and non-stop. Sometimes violently, tapping on the glass, then slowly, rolling down.
I stand and look at the light – the reflection of the lamp. I received a letter from you yesterday. From you, who is not there. This is strange. Does it hurt? No. It doesn't hurt at all. It hurt when you laughed, calling me ugly and stupid.
Fool. That word is still there, but you are not. The word is there, but you are not. You will never say anything offensive or stupid to me again. Never. Because you're not here. You're not here, do you hear? Do you hear me, you freak? You're not here!!! No!!! No!!!You... are... gone…
I'm not crying! I'm not crying or thinking. I don't think about you and your insignificance anymore. You're bad. Just a bad person. Absolutely bad. ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥. Carrion. A louse. A narcissistic peacock. Nothingness. Ahahahaha... you're not here. But there is a letter. There is a letter. Here it is. It is there, but you are not. Fool.
You're not here. Oh my God, you're not here!!! You're gone!!! Noooooo!!! Why? Why aren't you here? Why now? Is it now that you're gone? Why? Right now, when it doesn't hurt anymore? When I ready to hit back? Give you back yours.
Water. It flushes, cleanses and takes away. Take it away! Take it away! He's gone and there's nothing else. Nothing.
And you're gone…
Do you recognize it? Yes, yes, this is the same monologue when we are rejected, unloved and when he is no more. There is no one who caused the pain of unrequited love and suddenly disappeared.
Is he dead?
Not obligatory. The story doesn't necessarily end so tragically. It doesn't necessarily end at all. It happens that the scoundrel lives somewhere nearby, perhaps on the next street. And you meet sometimes, maybe even say hello. It's possible, but it's better not to. It's better not to meet at all. And so, memories roll in, resentment rises in my throat, and it begins. Rain, snot, crushing.
Precisely! There is also such an attack: and maybe if ... well, and so on.
Ugh! It stinks of sentimentality. It smells like a dumpster of rotten relationships.
And here's another thing: loneliness has knocked on my door…
What kind of loneliness? We always have our inner self, which will perfectly keep us company in conversation. There is always a TV, a microwave, a pillow, after all.
I'm kidding. I'm joking, of course.
What can replace this terrible monologue about suffering for lost feelings?
Food? Well, if you're really pinned down, then you can eat. Not for long, otherwise it will drag on. And a "Blind Man" will happen (read "Blind Men").
Sports? Yes, it's a good option. But you also don't have to go head over heels – leave some fat, let it be.
Creativity heals best. Any one. Absolutely. Sing, dance, draw, write, carve, glue, sew, compose. Take yourself by the scruff of the neck and lead in cruises, courses, trainings. Everything will do, even the most primitive. It's even better, if simpler.
"You are no more" - it will pass. But you will learn to live an interesting life. Another world will appear, where there will no longer be a place for monologues about "you".
Rain. Letter. Sorry