That quiet, calm disappointment afterwards, what is that called? You know, after the heart-stopping thrill, after the curious contemplation, and after the loud, loud rage, there is that eerie stillness, that sort of learned helplessness. Is there a single word that defines that dismal acceptance, that damp silence, that slow heavy gaze towards the one you couldn’t have imagined could injure so sweetly?
The layers of history outnumber the syllables possible in a single word. After realizing that you were in a state of unrequited euphoria inflicted upon your spirit by that person’s mere presence; that he or she was not thinking of you, that maybe he never will; after leaping between hopeful excitement, tender confusion, and angry apathy; after caring so much and receiving so little, your eyes are dry but downcast, and your mouth is smiling but closed.
It feels like losing something important but refraining from searching for fear that it will be taken away again. It feels like the forever that nobody talks about.