“I don’t know” – The repugnant understatement. The absence of understanding that I’m brought to my knees by fully obliterates a decrepit “I don’t know”. And reluctantly, I’ve welcomed into my home the oppressive realization that you don’t like the explanations. I’ll allow the “I don’t know”. It’ll eat me up inside and I know it. Similar to how what I’m already going through with you is devouring me.
I can’t quite figure out what I did. There’s so much that I desire to mention – profess, remark, opine. But I can’t bring myself to let the words form off of my tongue. You paralyze my confidence. Albeit I don’t want to bring offense, left unspoken, these notions, these impressions will sabotage real deserving emotions like suffocating innocent newborns in a nursery. Things have to be done. But the part of the proceeding where I do those things is the part that I wish that I had envisioned. I just don’t want to supply you with another textbook justification to purchase more interspace and so truculently position it between where you’re standing and where I’m falling.
I could self-examine my undesirable comportment, the cycle of my displeasing acts that tarnished your interpretation of my character; dressed it up in the irremovable Christmas sweater with the stomach-churning motif. Or I could waive the scrutiny of my chivalrous etiquette and continuously misunderstood gestures that collected like parts of a bridge of advantage across which you took every step.
How is the view from the other side? Do I look the same? Perhaps my scars are a bit more appealing from unreasonable distance. Is the grass greener? More importantly, are you happy? I wonder if you’ve considered your walk back across the bridge. When you decide to come back for what you tried to forget, be it here for you still, or blown away like the debris of the hurricane, will you have that same energy? Only time will tell me.
I do miss the way you’d blow Cannabis clouds in my direction. I don’t miss the fear of you using me for my complexion; not at all. It’s true that I loved the good in you. As children hunting for eggs on Easter, a pirate finding buried treasure, I discovered sweet gold that weakened me – mind and body. I also loved the bad in you. Its humanizing affects made you real to me. I always saw the best in you, despite the fact that, for so long, you only ever focused on the parts of me that gave you a reason to stop and think. But you never did. You just ran. The could-become moments, building blocks of grand joy and long life never made it to picture day. Not to mention all of the things that you’ve accomplished since taking off in your direction.
I’m going back to the party now. Maybe against my better judgement, submitting myself into a community where I don’t feel that I belong and everything seemingly goes awry. There’s always a cost to education though. So I’ve paid some prices, but I’ve learned some things. The best lessons are the ones that have broken me in half and half again. The best teachers I’ve had are the ones who have taken the life out of me and never put it back. People like you.
I don’t want to hold onto this anymore. I only ever wanted to hold onto one thing. So when you read this, don’t look at the words like that. They can see you.
I’m going back to the party now. I’ll save you a dance for when you make it back to this side of the bridge.