Quesadillas and Salsa.

To the reader: If this is your first time on my blog, many greetings; If you've been here before, happy returns to you. Everything you read here will be my genuine unfiltered thoughts and secrets, explaining in full detail everything about me, piece by piece. I wish that you read on without prejudice or judgement, for I am not a perfect person, and I hope that you can connect and empathize with my life's story. -Alex

This one is, again, for you.

We haven't even talked in a 10 days now. I know that tonight you're out at your Ball, looking gorgeous, probably going clubbing afterwards, and all the while you won't even think of me; and that's okay.

I just wanted to say that I've spent the last 4 days in an acting workshop, learning all sorts of things about my lesser side. My human side.

Thanks to Dennis, I've come to terms with the fact that I have emotions, and that they matter, and that whether they hurt or not, I need to face them anyways. In a sense, I need to face you anyways. To quote him, "Your wall is not protecting you; if it was really protecting you, you wouldn't feel afraid."

Out of the multitude of exercises, I kept coming back to you. You were the one thing in my mind that I was constantly fixated on. I wrote you two letters, one of which was a poem. I thought about you when I had to acknowledge that I had failed, and all I could think of was that I was not good enough; even though I know that's not entirely true. I broke down crying, to the simplest of exercises, because I can't forget you.

Then came sense memory, an exercise in which we recreated a place based off of our senses using a combination of memory and imagination, and the scene that came to me was that night we went to Sepang Goldcoast, after driving all those hours through absolute nothingness to arrive at a mediocre beach; but we didn't care because you wanted the ocean and I drove two hours through the dark to get you there.

I was there, sitting on the towels, feeling the sand, watching you dance to your smooth jazz in the moonlight; your skirt flowing in the night's cool breath, as the sound of waves caressing the sand reverberated in the background. I was there, with you, in a moment of bliss. You came over and sat by me and gave me your adorable inquisitive look, asking 'What' and calling me 'lame' when I replied with a grinning 'nothing'.

And then I heard myself say 'This is nice', and in the illusion I'd painted, you replied with 'I wish we had more time.' I had to force myself out of the memory there and then, because to go on any longer would have killed me more than you already have.

It's midnight. 12:02am to be exact. You're out celebrating, and I'm here writing about you. I know you'll be gone, for good, in just a few days-- One, or two, it doesn't matter.

I'm not ready to say goodbye, and that's okay too; but I acknowledge that I have to, and I acknowledge that as much as it pains me, the moment is over. Our chapter has come to an end, and the story must move on.

I still fucking love you more than anything. But I need to move on, just as you already have.
So goodbye.