It has been a while since I have felt whole.

But then again it's also been a while since I have felt empty. This feeling that I have is sort of difficult to explain. The words that I may write may never measure up to the reality of the matter. How does a person describe a feeling such as this? I'm searching for something, (anything,) that would describe this feeling, this emotion.

I think I will call it: i n c o m p l e t e.

That is how I feel. (Incomplete. Inadequate.) I am not whole, but I am not empty. I am something that is undefinable. I am something that has boundaries and meets none of them. Maybe I have a complex. (Maybe I am insecure.) Maybe I am everything and nothing at the same time. (Maybe I make absolutely no sense.)

Because a person cannot really have nothing. Nothing does not really exist. Nothing is nothing but to be nothing means that it is actually something because it is called nothing. I don't think I'm nothing. (I used too though.) I used to think that I was empty. (That I was nothing.) That's not true anymore.

But I have yet to become something.

I think I was something once, (a long, very long) time ago. I was a person. I could breath. (I could feel.) I could live. I left alive. Every breath I took proved that I was alive, (that I was still here,) that there was something to live for. I can barely remember those times. They seem so far away. They seem so long ago.

No matter how many times I look at it, I feel like it's still my fault.

Really, it's silly. It's my fault. (Somehow. Someway. I'll find it.) I used to tell myself so many things. "I should have seen it coming." "I should have known it would happen." "I should have done something to prevent it." But saying these things don't matter now. This is an unresolved matter.

It will never be resolved.

That is what I think. I will never see you again. (You will never see me again.) There will never be a conclusion.

I cut those ties. I cut away all of those bonds. (I threw it all away.) Everything that had once defined me as something. I had discarded it in exchange for nothing. I think I was running away back then. (I think I was afraid.) I think I was ashamed. But I actually don't remember anymore. I don't remember how I felt. I don't remember why I felt that way. I really don't remember much of anything. (Why did everything have to be so complicated?)

It was so long ago and I swore at that time that I'd never forget.

Look at me now. I C A N N O T R E M E M B E R .

The fact that I cannot remember, (I won't remember,) bothers me the most. I know I am probably blocking it all away subconsciously. I am trying to make up for it. (I'm trying to atone.) It's silly because I don't even remember what I'm atoning for. I don't remember A N Y T H I N G.

I don't remember you.

I can't remember you're face.

I can't remember your eyes (or your smile or even your voice).

The reason I won't remember is probably because I didn't want too.

But now I want to remember. I want to know what it once felt like. (I want to feel whole.)

W H Y do you never leave?

Life isn't like a book. Life isn't a story.

I will never get my fairytale ending. (Prince charming never comes to sweep me off my feet. And after everything I've still got my theif. That stupid theif that's stolen my heart away from you. I don't think I mind though. I didn't use it much anyways.) Endings like that don't exist. They are imaginary. They are illusions. These are the things that we repeat to ourselves over and over and over again in order to avoid the truth.

But I don't know the truth. (I will never know the truth.)

I never got that fairy tale ending. (Sometimes I wish I had one.)

Regardless, this story is my story. (It belongs to me and me alone.) And I would not change it if I ever had the oppurtunity to. I would make all the stupid descisions that I had made before. I would not want to live in ignorance. (But isn't ignorance bliss? What if I am ignorant of ignorance itself?) I do not wonder what it would have been like if I had changed something. I don't want it to be different. I don't dwell on things I can't remember.

So I bid you an abrupt fairwell.

After all this is my story, and my story will always remain:

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