sunday evenings are the worst.

i don't smell them anymore in my bed

it's been nearly five months since i've seen him afterall

his voice, his face, they're fading memories.

yes sunday afternoons remain hard to bear, i almost always find myself lying on bed 

thinking oh i wasn't worth loving, i wasn't anything special, that was it, my spring of hope gone.

who would want this? i am dead to all i think.

once i used to think, that there were good and bad memories, now i know it's no longer he himself i think of or miss

it's just the intimacy, sense of great hope, that perhaps i was lovable, that perhaps i too could find someone for myself,

anyway it's all over. 

i haven't entirely forgotten, but the memories have lost that sense of intense emotional attachment.

that has faded. 

a week ago, a small blip occurred. someone saying something, which felt, like a new level of intimacy.

someone new, but not new entirely, someone of my age, someone who i may even have mutual acquaintances with,

someone who shares many of my interests.

it made me a little hopeful, i don't know, of something. even though it was practically nothing. 

then a day or two later i deleted those messages, even muted them, because i could not -

i could not have this kind of false hope.

i am not ready for any kind of hope right now.

i need the wound to heal fully, mature into normal tissue again, before risking it being ripped apart in any way.

and as that little voice crept up, as it usually does, asking who would want you? 

in this form, in this state, who would find you desirable

i know, i know, i know. 

i am afraid, i realised.

i am afraid of the same disappointment, same failure, same sense of rejection, not being enough, not being right, not lovable, not desirable enough. all of those things all over again.