Thorns.

You’re still here writing on these blank sheets, as if there really was an escape, writing these things. As if what you write really is enough to be a dam to all the tears that flow.

You have known so many truths, you know what to do now, you know how to live, but you always feel the same pain.

She’s missing, of course it she’s missing, you cannot be judging yourself for your feelings, you can forgive others, you can forgive yourself, because you have to do it. Because love for oneself is something damn difficult.

They said the ugliest words possible, didn’t you forgive them? You can do it only with some, with her, but not with others.

Not with those who have been an obstacle to your freedom to be yourself and express yourself from the first day, not for those who have clearly contributed to your estrangement.

Let’s say that we forgive only when it no longer matters, we finally arrive at that point in our life to think and therefore, to say:

<< But yes, come on. It doesn’t bother me anymore. I hope they are well, even if I doubt it >>.

But sometimes trying to love someone is like hugging a cactus or a hedgehog. So beautiful and cute, but then they show you thorns when you get close, when you want to love them a little more.

And you have nothing to do but shut yourself up, but you know you don’t have to judge, you have to learn to forgive and forgive yourself.

And I know I can do it, because I manage to be really different, to let things go through me, unlike those who continue to have this perennial resentment towards me.

I don’t hate, because I love.

You can never leave yourself alone, you know it’s hard to be strong, you know it’s hard to love each other, you try every day to get better, but it’s so fucking demanding.

It hurts me every day, I feel the pain in my heart. I always miss a person, I wish she knew, I wish she understood that I would never want to hurt her. I want her happiness, I want to be by our side to support her, and I never want to force anyone to love me.

Here they have told me many things, they have considered and defined me in a way that I do not recognize, every time I look in the mirror, and I look at these eyes red with tears, they are the eyes in which I look.

I who have only heard judgments on this person, on me, but whoever he loves does not judge.

I love her in every way, in every place, and I hope she stays away from those who really want to hurt her, from those who really take advantage of her.

It was certainly never me.

Yet she is convinced that I am the enemy, who somehow wanted to take advantage of her good faith in her, for I don’t even know what reason.

There is nothing that hurts more than knowing that the person you love or loved thinks of you totally different things from reality.

And not being able to do anything to change things.

They told me I had to stop writing, but obviously they couldn’t. Because you can’t impose anything on anyone, and you certainly don’t heal it by trying to force it.

It will be time to feel bad when it comes, not because she or I don’t know who, out of “jealousy”, wants me to stop.

We don’t have the remote, do we?

Unfortunately, dear friends, the only way to make me stop would be to give me even a little bit of what I want: a little peace, a little reparation for what has been destroyed, in short, rebuild a relationship, little by little, without having to be in a way that is how I would like it to be.

A bit like we would like together, right?

Each time I seem to review the list of my mistakes. In the end, it is not those that hurt me, but their consequence.

Certainly, many cannot consider them as such. They came from the heart, spontaneous and with good intentions, good faith.

I cannot and will never be able to accept the fact that I am seen as a demon, knowing this.

I felt a pain so strong that I could not stop it, as well as the tears that came out, that enveloped me, chained me and I did not feel myself breathing.

They told me to stop writing, but I can’t do it. Sometimes talking to friends isn’t enough, not even talking to myself.

… Not even writing in pen on a blank sheet of paper.

And whoever wanted to stop me from doing it, whoever judged me, I don’t think really loved me. Their priority has never been to make me feel better to stop my pain, instead, they intensified it.

And with them, I am very reluctant to hang out with them, let alone confide in them …

And I don’t want to leave myself alone, I need to heal in a hug.

.

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