Move On.

     I wonder if you think about me as much as I think about you and write about you and dream about you and pray about you... I find it unlikely, I guess that's why we are no longer we, but instead are you and I-- I am broken, but you seem to be just fine. The thing that gets the deepest beneath my skin is the lack of closure that we provided to one another. It was as if we were both afraid to speak the truths of our hearts-- my truth that I loved you and your truth that you never could. Our truths never did seem to align...
     Nowadays my pens seem to instinctually write your name. Every night I re-watch a version of my default dream-- where you and I attempt love once more, but it inevitably fails... That is how broken our love truly is, it cannot even survive in a world that exists purely in my mind. 
      I'm not sure why I continue to write about you or paint pictures of your green eyes and post them all over the walls of my brain-- it's obsessive, I know, but I believe it is so much more. I am afraid to move on or incapable of moving on... all I know is that I do not want to move on... Though I know I must move on...  Why have we forced ourselves into this disgusting corner that is exhaustive with cobwebs all telling me to move on. Even the demons of my soul have teamed up with the few surviving angels in attempts to convince me to move on... But still I refuse to move on. 
       I will continue to write about you until the world is vacant of empty space and all the pens have run dry... But even then I will find a mountaintop to scream my confessions out. It's the only way that I know how to live... Even if I cannot truly have you, I will have you in my dreams. I will have you in my prayers. I will have you in the words that I write. Even if the only words directed at me are "move on," my words in response will always pertain to you... I refuse to move on.