Beginning to Heal?

Maybe a new beginning.

I'm beginning to see things, things I always hid from myself, things I pretended weren't there, so that we could be happy.

I have a habit of remembering the good and ignoring the bad. But why not? Optimism was my tragic downfall, thinking things might get better. The yang to your yin.

But three months have passed, and things are finally becoming clear.
The tears still come, and all too regularly at that, but its no longer the same thing. I miss other things, things I don't yet know how to describe.

A part of me will always love her, there's no doubt about that. But maybe she was right; maybe we aren't compatible at all, and someday I will be okay with that.

Not now, but something is changing.


I suppose this change was inevitable, given my earlier plans.
I just didn't know to expect it.

The things you don't know...

I never believed they couldn't hurt you. (And I don't know what fool came up with that phrase; some adulterer they must have been.)

I'm doing all these things, possibly on the verge of accomplishment, and your back has been turned for years. And though it sounds wrong, though it sounds like I've got my life all backwards and upside down, it's all kind of pointless when you're not around. What am I going to do with them, these accomplishments? Hang them on my wall, to look at them and say, "This is what I've done."

But I need more than that.

I need reason. In and of themselves, they are not enough.

I wanted to share them with you. I wanted to share everything.

Some days its so easy. Look at your picture and think, "You were never right for me."

But we all know I can't stay angry. At least not long enough to make it count.
And maybe that makes me weak, but it may also be my greatest strength, because I really can't think of many other people who can honestly forgive, who really do just want to move on and never look back except to say, "You taught me something invaluable."

I'm only asking for one thing.

But you've already taken it away from me.

A Turning Point

I miss my best friend.

Was it so hard to be both?

. . .

Sometimes I wish we didn't disagree on love.

Where you think love is selfless, I know it to be entirely selfish. And every evolutionary theory of human nature agrees with me. Without that selfishness our species couldn't have perpetuated.
Because we love the things that we like, we love the things that we want. Selfless acts are committed as a consequence of love, yet its not the same thing.
You have so often asked why I love you, as if knowing my reasons will change something. (And those reasons would be the same whether or not you know.) I have avoided giving concrete answers for fear of retaliation from you, because you would misunderstand.









...


Hate.

I realize its a bit dramatic...

...

In humid dreams

11:04 PM.

I should be sleeping, but instead I'm listening to the sound of crickets and feeling the staleness of immobile air. The evenings didn't always taste like this, bittersweet.
Last night you kissed me (or so my sleeping mind surmised). That current awoke me, but having done so left me with a deep ache. Those touches were electric.
Few other times in my life have I ever felt that way.
Remember that cold autumn night wrapped in a dozen blankets on your lawn?

I'm lying in wait, hoping to pounce when the moment is right. But it seems the moment will never be right, and when it is so much time will have passed perhaps you will have forgotten how it once felt.
("How long will I have to wait? 10 years? I can't wait forever.")

(The naiivety of that time astounds me.)
(Though I haven't changed a bit.)


This love is an illness.