Entry 2—
Missing Pieces
Having not
spoken to Gus for some time has begun to take a toll on me. With him, whenever
we were separated, I had often felt as if I had lost some part of myself. At
this point, the rift had grown increasingly shallow; the stepping stones weren't
as easy for me to approach in fear that I would love him again.
In
the back of my mind, I don’t think he ever truly got over her, she had so terribly corrupted him that I had assumed I could
stitch him back together. Like new. Brand new. Instead, I was left with a
barely functional Gus. I had sworn that I struck gold, and the intensity of my
feelings for him, inspirational, lingering.
Gus
was always … closed. And I hated it. Our last few months together, I had been
overwhelmed with the idea of how much I really meant to him. I had been so
resilient to put down my guard, and I did everything in my power to hurt him …
To hurt him the way he had hurt me.
I
had been so critical on him that eventually I had worn him down. Imagine, being
consumed in the idea that you could be the person to bring someone back from
the damned. The simple idea, that you could be the person that could replace
all the nights of sorrow that they had gone through. As an individual in his
life, I had assumed I could repair everything, but I would soon find I was
wrong. I was no “replacement” for her
in fact, I was anything but.
“You’re
great to me.” He said with this upset look on his face and then he looked away
from me.
Angrily
I continued to cry, “Why am I not good enough for you?” I screamed at him as I stomped
my foot against the bleachers.
I
hate that I love you Gus.
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