Perhaps I should just escape to KL. Or Shah Alam. I see myself sitting in some little cafe, reading poetry, sipping wine and trying so desperately to forget you and everyone else that broke my heart.

I feel like I have nothing left. Like my heart is completely gone. I had one small piece left and I thought that you could be the one to rebuild it. But thats my fault. I put too much pressure too soon. I threw myself at you before this even started. I am completely at fault for this whole mess. For my pain.

Its times like these where I think I need to move somewhere far away. My mother told me that sometimes she wishes the two of us could just leave and start fresh somewhere where no one knows us. I disagree. My mother is my best friend, but I need to go alone. I need to fly somewhere. Maybe I’ll create a new identity. A new life. A new start.

Of course this will never happen. Too many things like money, responsibilities, blah blah blah. Life’s a bitch sometimes, isn’t it?

But its awfully nice to dream about it. Europe. See the architecture. Drink coffee. Learn the language. Make love to the CULTURE. Heaven.

The crying has to stop. At some point. Right? I don’t know. My therapist says due to my lack of relationship experience and my 21-year-old bout of celibacy, I am developmentally much younger than 21 in matters of relationships and sexuality. So its only natural that I react to such issues like a 15 year old girl. Its natural. My therapist says so. So why do I feel like such a loser??

This isn’t going to make sense to anyone probably. It doesn’t even make sense to me. I just needed to write. To do SOMETHING. I’m sitting here on a Sunday morning with a cup of coffee, about to clean and decorate the house for my rest day. Nadzrin was supposed to come” tomorrow”. I don’t know if he will because he’s not responding to me. And i know thats all my fault. It must be. Its always my fault. Its just frustrating that time and time again God keeps bringing these wonderful men into my life and I somehow ruin it. He’s going to stop helping me at some point because He probably can’t trust me to make things work. I’m too immature. I’m too needy.

Because, in reality, I am still that five-year-old girl dressing up as Cinderella, waiting for my prince to rescue me. I may be mature in some ways, but in this, I don’t think I will ever lose my childish ideals of romance and a happy ending. Someday I’ll have it. If not in this life, perhaps the next. But I refuse to give up hope. Someday my prince will come.

Love, always and forever,

izzaty

guyanaprincess:

My heart is shattered into more than a billion pieces 

I love you but did you ever love me