YOU CAN’T PRETEND LIKE NOTHING IS WRONG. YOU CAN’T PRETEND LIKE I’M JUST GOING TO GO AWAY. THINGS ARE NOT OKAY RIGHT NOW. FUCKING TALK TO ME AND ACKNOWLEDGE THAT, OR AT LEAST ACKNOWLEDGE ME. HOW DO I GO FROM BEING IN YOUR LIFE EVERY FUCKING DAY TO NOT EVEN EXISTING TO YOU?
“According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings condemning them to spend their lives in search for their other halves.”
You have what I can afford to give. You are a panhandler, begging for anything, and I am the man walking briskly by, tossing a quarter or so into your paper cup. I can afford to give you this. This does not break me. I give you virtually everything I have. I give you all of the best things I have, and while these are things that I like, memories that I treasure, good or bad, like the pictures of my family on my walls I can show them to you without diminishing them. I can afford to give you everything. We gasp at the wretches on afternoon shows who reveal their hideous secrets in front of millions of similarly wretched viewers, and yet…what have we taken from them, what have they given us? Nothing. We know that Janine had sex with her daughter’s boyfriend, but then what? We will die and we will have protected what? Protected from all the world that, what, we do this or that, that our arms have made movements and our mouths these sounds? Please. We feel that to reveal embarrassing or private things, like, say, masturbatory habits (for me, about once a day, usually in the shower), we have given someone something, that, like a primitive person fearing that a photographer will steal his soul, we identify our secrets, our pasts and their blotches, with our identity, that revealing our habits or losses or deeds somehow makes one less of oneself. But it’s just the opposite, more is more is more––more bleeding, more giving. These things, details, stories, whatever, are like the skin shed by snakes, who leave theirs for anyone to see. What does he care where it is, who sees it, this snake, and his skin? He leaves it where he molts. Hours, days or months later, we come across a snake’s long-shed skin and we know something of the snake, we know that it’s of this approximate girth and that approximate length, but we know very little else. Do we know where the snake is now? What the snake is thinking now? No. By now the snake could be fur; the snake could be selling pencils in Hanoi. The skin is no longer his, he wore it because it grew from him, but then it dried and slipped off and he and everyone could look at it.
But like the snake, I have no arms–– metaphorically speaking–– to carry these things with. Besides, these things aren’t even mine. None of this is mine. My father is not mine––not in that way. His death and what he’s done are not mine. Nor are my upbringing now my town nor its tragedies. How can these things be mine? Holding me responsible for keeping hidden this information is ridiculous. I was born into a town and a family and the town and my family happened to me. I own none of it. It is everyone;s. It is shareware. I like it, I like having been a part of it, I would kill or die to protect those who are part of it, but I do not claim exclusivity. Have it. Take it from me. Do with it what you will. Make it useful. This is like making electricity from dirt; it is almost too good to be believed, that we can make beauty from this stuff.
Letting go of someone that you love and care about is the hardest thing to do. Watching them go out of your life, and just letting them walk away, is heartbreaking. But sometimes it needs to happen.
They’re not y what you were looking for at all, and deep down, you really know that. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt, that it doesn’t rip you apart, because it does. You’ve spent so much time with them, even if it wasn’t always good. You felt a connection with them that is hard to feel with most people. They were a big part of your life for however long, and you feel comfortable.
But you know that you deserve better. You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love them, and someone who wants to prove that to you, even if it’s only by actually wanting to spend their free time with you, however little time they have. You need someone who wants to know everything about you, because they want to be in your life, and you truly interest them. They want to tell you about themselves and bring you into their lives as well.
You need someone that thinks you’re attractive, instead of one who has never shown any interest in your appearance, no matter if you look like garbage, or if you try to look your nicest for them, even if you’re just staying in for the night.
I have been settling for things that I never would have thought acceptable years ago. I am belittling myself by letting you belittle me. I stand by while you treat me like I don’t even exist, and while you go out of your way to not make me feel loved.
"I just miss you…" "Oh."
I refuse to put my heart on the line for someone who refuses to admit he even has a heart. I love him more than I have ever loved another guy, but it’s a one way street.
I’m still secretly hoping that, after all of this, he comes back… that he misses me as much as I miss him, that he was just having a bad night, that he apologizes, that he tells me he cares, or that he just holds me again… but I can’t let that happen. I need to put my foot down.
Show me you care, and that I actually mean something in your life, or leave mine for good.