Another Funeral

You're still in this "let me suffer" phase, when you get distracted by every sad love song, creating vivid images of your past or fictitious future interactions. You hate cartoons, but you find yourself watching them to be a little closer to her because she loves analyzing each character and plot from sociologist's perspective. It reminds you of those happy times when you observed her talk right in front of you twice a week, and laughed at her awkward jokes, times when she was still weaved into the fabric of your existence. At the same time you hate that your field of study is the same as hers, because it reminds you that she refused to be your advisor and had to be removed from your life prematurely, and your impulsivity and intensity are to blame.

You finally accept that you are still in love, or possibly again in love, because the further the goal, the more desirable it is for you. You try not to think about her all the time like you used to do intentionally, because now instead of feeling inspiration, you feel this pulling pain as if someone is slowly scooping cold ice cream from your chest. You feel embarrassment, thinking of the judgments she must have made, imagining the inevitable future instances of you two crossing paths on your small campus and unnaturally ignoring each other, how hard it will be for you to pretend that you don't want to look in her eyes, to talk to her, to scream at her, ask her why in the world she did what she did. You try to get distracted, push her into your subconscious, only planting seeds of your feelings deeper within. You even dare to conclude she must be homophobic, and to blame her internalized misogyny. Why else would she be afraid of you? Why would she choose this distant cruel way to deal with your sincere feelings, instead of having a heart-to-heart?

You're angry at her, but really - at yourself because of this habit, this need to always express your feelings. Livid, swearing to never write poetry again because all it brings is destruction and pain. Angry at the world for never understanding you. For being addicted to pain and never letting true reciprocated love into your life, pushing away everyone who shows signs of sympathy. After some time you will understand that this was not worth jeopardizing your academic and professional life, but won't learn from your mistakes, choosing drama over happiness again and again. But until then, you are grieving, and it feels like a long dissipating funeral. For another semester you will see snippets of her like hallucinations, you'll feel like you're going insane, fighting the urge to talk to her - not because you are afraid to face a court trial, but because she does not want to talk to you - until you graduate and never see her again. Some day, you will look back and laugh, but deep down you will still feel the loss because it's tragic to have people torn out of your life, dead or alive.