Broken
Are broken. In the true sense of the word: there is something broke in me, for many reasons I can only guess.
I feel empty, broken into pieces, a stupid shell with nothing inside. I thought, in these years, to have something inside of me, positive or negative. Instead I find that I have not learned anything much new, not improved at all, had not ever attempted.
And there's always remind me of him and he with his myriad activities, passions, knowledge, research and experiments. We separated eight years, it is true, but this does not mean that whatever I do he will always be more than me, and although it sounds, feels a certain satisfaction in that.
Then, after a year of knowledge, regardless of all his skill, passion and intelligence, yet comes to understand the simplest things. This hurt me terribly. I feel stupid to get angry when everyone tells me to let go, but I can not help it, I can not help but sense a vice rip my stomach that any attempt to ignore those that appear only trifles.
Why are these little things are important to me, more than many other things. I'd like him to read something of mine and I would like when he goes without me snowboarding with friends and I'm at home in my ass to remember to send me a message just to say that all is well and I like it when I find with my mother dared to take the first step to invite me to his room and I'd like that when me back home and I'm sad, after asking me if everything was all right, instead of ignoring my shrug returning send me a message.
His answer, after all, is always the same "I never thought of."
And today I have replied: "You never think."
He is a kind, courteous and helpful. Full of interest and capable of involving in all it does. But as long as he is the protagonist, that's fine as long as he is playing and I make a spectator, until he has to do historical re-enactment and I watched him. In the game takes its monopoly, and when I have to stay in it a bit 'I feel even more guilty. I advice on where to go, when it's up to me he talks to me like I'm an idiot who has never contested the mouse and virtual soldiers shot in his life.
Whatever I do, however, is this: If I drive, he tells me the exact same things that he hates being told by his mother, "Go plan, the traffic light is green / red ... "the usual platitudes from those who believe that is driving him is far less practical.
I'm tired of accumulating sense of inferiority against him, tired of having to come to the liver for rotten groped to live up to all the others who are snowboarding and stop to feel myself as the last wheel of the wagon. I would not feel like a ball and chain as the other super slopes down from the grinding years of experience with the board, but I just can not do otherwise. Why is it so.
might finally be able to go back to writing as I did before. Back I chat with friends, reading fanfictions dell'hu chan, Pri, Ile and many other people with whom I do not feel too long. All those activities that, in his eyes, albeit unknowingly not seem to ever come close to what he does and knows. Writing is what I do best, fuck, why am I no longer spend the morning as I had spent so many years ago?
nostalgia and I feel like crying. I feel that I love and, yes, hate the same time. Why do not you think, because he can afford to buy clothes for its evocation of spending hundreds of pounds, because can ask his parents to buy the i-pad because it can go skydiving and I will have to wait for the collection from him. Despite everything, I will never understand and I will continue to have tears in their eyes.
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