Sometimes I worry that HE loved me first. Not in a narcissistic, "Every boy in my life wants me" kind of way. In the plain and simple HE fell in love with me first sense. And the things about love is that once it's there, you're stuck with it. It's parasitic. Even if they won't admit it, I'd bet that most people still love someone they may have loved. Not that they want these people back... just in a weird sense of nostalgia and déjà vu , where your heart aches for something that it didn't even know it was missing. An old tee shirt in the closet or a bottle of shampoo that you forgot to throw away will suffice. The feelings they elicit are the ghosts of emotions. Refeeling something you used to feel in a removed state. In that sense, it's not that I don't think HE loves HER; HE does. Just not the way HE loves me. HE was by my side in the spring. HE told me when she dumped HIM and HE always played HIS new songs for me first. HE caught me when I passed out and I see the look on HIS face when HE sees me. I think that over time HE just began to see how unsuited I am to be in stable, committed relationship... what HE should be in with HER. THEY'RE perfect. HE and I would never work out. I've never loved HIM with anything more than the deep, heart-aching never-to-be-romantic love that is harder and more draining and more connecting than any other loves. I wish HE would love HER. It's hard knowing someone loves you and you will never feel the same and it's hard when that person knows it too. It's the way HE loves me. The way SHE loves HIM. It explains the vacation and the violent rejections from him and the other girl. he can't have me because YOU can't have me. Love should be a capsule or an injection. It's be much more manageable that way.
0 Comments
I am oblivious.
I become so lost in ever detail to even notice what those details are. I am mesmerized by the tiny cogs & wheels & gears that are the cause and the effect of everything. In seeing everything I see nothing. I am the proverbial blind man wandering through the desert. But I've used all my miracles on near death car crashes and accidental overdosing of emotions to ever expect to find my sight restored. Soon my delicate fingertips will become calloused from the Braille I will learn. It's ironic. In trying to see everything I now see nothing. I am alone with my thoughts. I was born in a nebula eons away
in a different galaxy (a different universe) than the one before me now. I exist in the place between light and darkness. Where the world is both beginning and ending. I am the first flake of snow on Christmas morning, the first leaf to change color and drop in autumn. I am a first (and a last) kiss (and every kiss in between.) I am a cumulus cloud on a sunny day... the place where tornadoes touch the earth and the eye of every hurricane. I am the last breath of sunlight at the end of the world. I think, therefore I am. Memory is not a noun.
Memory is an action. When I remember you, I am laughing. I don't remember the laughter that you instilled within me. It embodies me and swallows me whole. I don't remember breathing. I am breathing, feeling the life enter and exit my trachea (and my lungs) Every bit as tangible as the trachea (and the lungs) that it touches. Remembering is not a verb. Remembering is a palpable thing. Remembering you is the hand I need to pick me up off of the ground when the reality of the lack of you weighs too much for me to stand on my own. Remembering you is my favorite quilt after being caught in a blizzard without the proper shoes that my father always lectured me for not wearing. The duality of physical and emotional comfort warms my bones (and my soul) almost as much as your embrace used to do. Every day when I wake (before remembering that you're gone) I feel the briefest flash of happiness before I feel the empty side of the bed and remember that you're gone. It hits me like a freight train, the memory... the motion of it. Remembering is not a verb. I don't remember loving you - I never stopped. Erratically empathetic, vaguely sociopathic female desperately seeking partner in crime.
|
I'm nothing special.I'm just trying to get my thoughts out of my brain. Follow me at
paperfingersandink.tumblr.com Archives
September 2016
|