I just want to live forever.

3 years has changed me, 3 years hasn’t changed a thing.

I’ve gone from 22 to nearly 25 and still nothing feels changed. I’ve gone from falling out of love to falling out of love. 3 years later and I’m writing about the same girl.

Same girl. Different place, and all that’s changed is a marriage.

And I’m still breathing.

I hope to look back at this and realize that. That when my whole life was crashing down around me, when my heart was breaking my ribs from the inside-out, that when my tears were shed and papers were being filed.

Realize that I am still breathing.

And I may not be okay right now, or tomorrow or years from now.

But right now.

I. Am. Breathing.

I’m breathing when its hard just to focus on not feeling alone, when it’s just me in a place we made together, when it hurts to breath cause my stomach might cave in. That I am still breathing. That I haven’t crashed my self into speeding traffic. That I haven’t thrown myself from a bridge. That I haven’t overdosed or blown my brains out over losing the one girl I wanted to grow old with. That I’m breathing when my lungs don’t want to cooperate and are just longing for the nicotine that I’ve quit for 6 months.

I just want to realize that I have made it farther than I ever thought possible. I made it to 25 when I thought I was just going to die much sooner than that. That I was going to just fade away without a care in the world.

Yes, it hurts cause I’ve loved her since I was 19 and it still hasn’t changed. But no matter how much I love her, or dream about her, or think of her, or believe that it will work out and she’ll fall back into my arms.

I can’t rely on her to make me happy. I’ve gone for too long depending on her to make me happy.

Yes, I used to live for her breathing softly on the pillow in our home, or listening to her laugh at the absurdity of our dog, or missing her when I was gone for months providing us for a way to live, or watching her sit in the other room yelling at me cause I forgot to do something. I used to live for her.

But that was for her, never for me.

It was for us, but still not for me.

I haven’t done a single thing without first thinking of her. I haven’t lived for me in three years. And yes that may sound selfless and great, but its not. It’s not great when all I have to show right now is a ring with no match and me alone in a home for two.

Yes, I’m hurting again.

Crying myself to sleep over the same girl, crying myself to sleep when I haven’t shed a tear since I was 10 years old. Nearly 25 years old and still seeing the sad boy looking back in the mirror.

Yes, I’m aching and its hard some days to focus when the silence is so deafening.

But I am still breathing.

3 years has changed me, 3 years hasn’t changed a thing.

3 years and I’m still breathing.