I used to be the kind of person who fought within the
boundaries of that which I thought I needed to fight in. This was the box, the
framework and I then would learn everything there was about that framework. How
to fit it all in that framework. I would bend and break bones to fit in the
coffin. It never occurred to me that there was no box.
It is terrifying to discover that a rigid and concrete box
that you built a life inside of may not even exist. Or at least in the way you
thought it did. How do you begin to restructure an entire life and all of its
pathologies? All of which you deemed ‘right’ or ‘wrong’?
When the bomb goes off, when the nuclear reactions designed
in the depths of some lab, by some scientist who thought he was ‘discovering’
and ‘creating’ becomes a weapon to be used against some oh so evil, but
faceless and nameless enemy (Let’s be honest. There is always a name.)
How does it feel to have nothing to ground you? Is it
preferable to thinking there was a shelter and being ill prepared when you are
shaken?
Black and white is so much easier. When everything can be
categorized and placed in this one or that one, you never have to deal with
being uncomfortable.. There is never the option of cognitive dissonance. You
never have to worry about readjusting your moral schema, because the base of
what is Right and what is Wrong never falters. It is very easy to know exactly
who you and where your confidence lies if you never have to consider that there
may be shades of grey (Let’s be honest. Isn’t it all grey?)
I am worried about certain things, that perhaps are too old
for me. I am saddened that these people I hold so extremely dear may not be
living a parallel life to me any longer. I am saddened, and I hurt. I always
thought that this/you/would be there. For example.
And I haven’t taken time to ‘process’ largely because I am
not sure what that means. Process what? What is there to feel after all?
I dreamed of this, of you, being here or back or at least
looking at me again.
And now, here you are. Alive, and wanting me. Alive and
real, and I remember and know your features.
I remember what or who you are/were to me.
Here it is. Honesty. I loved you, my dear I loved you beyond
what has ever been in my heart for a boy or even a man. I loved the way you
smiled, your laugh, I loved the confidence that you built up over yourself even
when you could not feel this. I loved that you had aspirations, that you wanted
to learn but more than that, you wanted to do. I loved that you loved me. That
you recognized me as a fellow traveler, that your heart wanted to go in the
same direction as my heart. I loved that you promised me that you would be
constant. That you would love me forever. That you would be in the nursing home
with me one day. That there would be prizes for the bingo because even older
people deserved surprise and hope.
My dear you crushed me and devastated everything I am. I would collapse
on the floor in absolute agony,
breaking and shattered and confused. I was deeply hurt and I loved you,
and I loved you, and I loved you.
And I knew, then, one day while sobbing on the floor,
wondering vaguely of the neighbors and what they must think (what kind of
person is this? who do you think I am?) that this must end. One way or another
this cannot go on like this. It must end because I cannot survive this. I will
not survive this. Do you hear me? If I do not let this great and dreadful love
go, I could not live. This love and I were not compatible, this aching draining
abscess of a heart would kill me if I let it.
Ah and you.
You.
Seeing you now and hearing you now is like an echo of an
echo and I know I should love you. I know that you should mean everything to
me, that seeing your face and hearing your voice should cause my whole being to
erupt and explode with something. Anything.
Ah but is it too late? You see I had to let it go. I had to
let you go. I had to accept and commit to feel nothing because it would have
killed me darling, it almost killed me, it ripped me and was ripping me at
every moment I let your name cross my lips or your mind cross my mind.
Now. You are here. I remember this pain and I remember this
love but I feel like I am looking at a stranger,
and I have reverberating pains like the aftershocks of an
earthquake or the body’s memory of a heart-attack.
What do I do with this?
