"I said that I don't believe in anything anymore, but I believe in you."
He cried me that in our last argument. It was a little wave in the vastness of a sea of words. I didn't bother paying attention to it. It was such a stupid fight about such a serious event and I wanted to believe in him so much, but I knew the truth. I know that he wanted to believe in his words, he was desperately trying to do so...We hated each other, it couldn't be different, we were a couple, after all. Once you wake up everyday for a year looking at the same face, love is completely lost, there's no more reason for it to persist. It's all just boredom, boredom, and it's boredom that make people fight, not hate. As a matter of fact, I was wrong. I never hated him, I was just so, so bored, and that's where it began. Boredom led me to do unimaginable things, things I never thought I'd do. It led me to create surreal stories in my head. I wanted something new, and he just gave me the same old stupid smile.
Then, I had a son. We had a son. And he was beautiful, and he was new. The sleepless nights, the sexless months, the financial difficulties, it was all terribly horrible, but it was new! It was a distraction! And, oh, how did my little one grow, dear God, how did he grow up fast. I was once one, afterwards two, and now we were finally three, I couldn't be happier! He and I still fought, of course, still so frivolous and stupid, but we were happy. The birthdays came, our crystal wedding anniversary, and then porcelain, and I felt fulfilled. Our son had 10 whilst we were 20. But something went wrong. It all became routine.
Don't think me as egotistical, no, per contrary! I just need something new, I need distraction, I need something. Unless, it'll all come back. And the meds didn't work anymore, what was I supposed to do? The thoughts came and went and there was no silencing them. He was good, he was too good for me, but he was always the same, he always reminded me that I was I, the same me as I've always been, and, oh, I hated myself so much. Then, I cheated on him.
It was beneath a July sky, summer break. I was driving, our kid in the backseat, just the two of us, he was waiting. I wasn't distracted by a call, alcohol, anything, no, it was desperation. I couldn't handle him anymore, I couldn't handle both them, us, everything, it all smothered me, drowned me, and it was terrible, it was horrible, it was tedious. And it was all so, so fucking real, but it didn't look as much, it was sad, it was an ocean, it was an ocean, and I just wanted to swim to surface and breathe, or just drown faster. All I had to do was go faster, just faster, and the endless madness would end, endlessly. But, no, God never existed and my breathing persisted. The boy died, and I, not knowing what to do, said it was all an accident. How did they believe me? They knew me. It couldn't have been an accident. Two cars, only one survivor. Me. Why? Just, why? He came to see me, of course he did. Crying, desperate, beaten up, without his child. I screamed, fought, complained. I hated him. And then he said, quoting a past conversation, a quick little rambling, just one more of our stupid adventures: "I said that I don't believe in anything anymore, but I believe in you, I love you."
What an egotistical way I chose to die. Now he's gone, and I'm alone, and that'll last forever. I hope that someone, whoever it is, doesn't forgive me. I do not wish for forgiveness, I want pain. The pain makes me forget.