What on Earth is wrong with you?

Perhaps, you wished that life came with a Backspace button. So, you could just backspace the hell out of everything, go back to the start and re-do everything at once but you can’t do that.

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Coldplay - The Scientist

The blank page stares right back at you, mocking you for not being able to write anything 32 minutes after you’ve opened a blank document.

You ask yourself why, in the first place, did you open a blank document when instead, you could be sleeping or you could be drowning in liquor—which is honestly what you prefer most at the moment.

But you sit there, in front of your rusty old computer asking yourself, “What on Earth is wrong with you?”

You literally shrug at that.

Now, you feel even more stupid for not knowing the answer to your own question.

You find yourself just sighing in the process of trying to come up with the answer to your question.

What on Earth is wrong with you?

You ask yourself again.

Enter.

Enter.

Enter.

Backspace.

The sound of the keyboard is somewhat comforting so you find yourself doing it repeatedly.

Enter.

Enter.

Enter.

Backspace.

Perhaps, you wished that life came with a Backspace button. So, you could just backspace the hell out of everything, go back to the start and re-do everything at once but you can’t do that. You know damn well you can’t.

The thing is you’re not so sure how or when your patience started running out but lately you’ve been snapping way too easily, you’ve been irritated more often than not, and you hate it because you promised yourself you will not be this way in your current relationship.

Quite frankly, when you think about the past month of your relationship, you can only feel how exhausting it had been.

There was this one huge fight and then, everything came falling down after that. Two days ago, you almost broke up.

You sigh once more.

You’re sure that the exhaustion is caused by your recent, almost record-breaking number of fights. It’s also because of issues that always go unresolved or the ones that never get the chance to be resolved.

You hate how low your tolerance for drama is.

You wish you were more patient.

You wish you were more forgiving.

But you aren’t and you don’t know why because you know you used to be the golden girl who didn’t walk away when things got hard.

You don’t know who that girl is anymore.

You wish, right at that moment that if she’s still somewhere inside you, she’d come out and knock some sense out of you.

Out of sheer frustration, you bury your face in your hand as your tears started streaming down.

Maybe that’s what’s bothering you after all this time. Maybe, your jokes about being emotionally unattached aren’t purely jokes at all. Maybe, you have unattached yourself way too far.

You wipe your tears and laugh at yourself in the most sarcastic way possible, what is wrong with you?

This time, you utter the words literally, as if saying it out loud would change a thing. The silence that follows after you literally talked to yourself was again a mocking reality that you don’t know what you got yourself into.

A relationship that’s almost falling apart does not even begin to describe it.

There’s something inside you that’s changed and you don’t like it; you don’t like it because it’s making holding on a hard thing to do and you don’t want that. You’ve always prided yourself in your ability to make relationships work but maybe, you’re not a demigod after all.

Enter.

Enter.

Enter.

Backspace.

And you suddenly realized you were able to write something after all.

But you decide not to finish what you’ve written. You know damn well it wasn’t the time to finish the story. You know damn well that the grass is not any greener on the single side of the world.

Last night, you prayed for patience.

So maybe that’s the reason you’re in this position today.

Last night, you asked for patience.

So today, you’re in a situation where you’re forced to wait.

Wait until you’ve figured it out.

But right now.

You can’t finish this blog entry.

At least not yet.

______
The Scientist (Coldplay)

Author: Lora Dee

Proof that a degree in Communication doesn't make anyone less awkward; music taste ranges from the very first Britney Spears album to Arcade Fire and Haim but does not include Justin Bieber and One Direction; favorite poet is me because everyone is a poet when they're sad enough.

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