remember when I blamed the crowd for the loss of connection. I removed my human from that crowd — your crowd. I removed myself from you. You no longer have access to my being.
So why am I still haunted by you?
You became a rare kind of PTSD — not the clinical kind, but the kind where a memory keeps firing long after the moment is gone. I tried to take you out of my mind, out of my human experience, and it only made sense to everyone else. The crowd. Your crowd.
But the loss of connection didn’t leave me empty. It left me with tears, emotional hell, and a whole new crowd — the anti‑you. And now their voices sit in my ear, telling me who I should be, how I should feel, what I should forget.
If you know me, you know I never listen to the crowd.
Removing you from my thought process still doesn’t make sense. The memory of us — that overwhelming, nauseating feeling — refuses to fade. I would rather live with the PTSD of you than live without you.
if I blamed the crowd, and I removed myself… why are you still a lost memory?
Why does the new crowd make healing from you impossible? Do I even want to heal from you? If the crowd wasn’t in my ear, maybe I would. Maybe I’d move on and find a version of you that isn’t shaped by anyone else. Maybe I wouldn’t be stuck replaying lost memories and broken connections. Maybe I wouldn’t care about the crowds or the crowns or the noise.
Maybe you’d fade out of my existence. Maybe I wouldn’t acknowledge the you, the me, the us, or any of it
But here’s the part that intoxicates my mental:
Why can’t we take the influence out of you so you could love me the way I needed? Because if the problem was the influence, then a love story could still exist. If it was just the crowd, then removing the crowd should have fixed the crown.
Unless the crown wasn’t influenced by the crowd at all. What if the crowd was influenced by the crown?
What if the hatred, the disrespect, the manipulation — wasn’t something done to you, but something that came from you?
If that’s true, then the story I’ve been telling myself collapses. It means I wasn’t protecting the truth — I was protecting a fantasy. It means I wasn’t healing — I was hiding. It means I wasn’t honest — not with myself, not with you.
It means I’ve been living a façade.
How will I ever know if it’s the crowd, the crown, or the memory? At this point, what does loving you — or you loving me — even feel like?
I know exactly what you felt like. But was that a façade?
Do I risk everything and find out? What will the crowd think? What will the crown think? What will we think — will we even think at all?
Will there be influence? Or were you the influence the whole time?
The feel of your lips saying the words… will that pull me back into the same loss of connection, the same round I barely survived?
Are you worth it? That is the question. Are you worth fucking around and finding out?
Isaiah 30:21
“And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”
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