Perhaps you will not have to brace yourself for impact. We know how all things that are not meant to be end. At the beginning, we are so full of wistful expectation that we fail to see the oncoming doom in all its glory.
You were not meant for me.
I whisper this thought internally, because saying it out loud will force me to accept its reality. If I keep it to myself–maybe we can escape the anger and pain that comes when people disappoint you. Maybe being silent keeps us of ignorant of the truth.
But we both know this isn’t true.
Instead, silence rears its ugly head at the exact moment you need to speak. It glances over restoration and latches onto apathy. Now I do not care to fight anymore or try to make things work when I have given all I’ve got and you sat there unchanging.
Famous for painting pictures that no one else can see.
Pity comes from a place of superiority. You “feel bad” for someone–but fail to see how close you are to your own painful story. I was broken in ways that I will never repeat.
Now all I want is to be set free.
Pull me back to reality. Because as of right now—I have given my whole attention to this alternate universe that only leaves me feeling incomplete. I stand up in my unhappiness, and look around. Seeing the anger and frustration I chose to bury.
Wondering if I will ever find my way back out.
Now, the ground quakes with rage and I know it is only a matter of time before I crumble beneath this pressure of my own doing. Eventually, we all must answer for the raw nerves we neglected to cover. But I am never given the opportunity.
When I am not actively healing, I like to believe I am living in a place where nothing goes wrong. I sleep through the night and spend productive days hoping to “do better” when the chance comes my way. I pick up my cross and carry on.
But I am just as broken as I was last year when I had to accept that I was on my own.
Some nights I dream of the innocent souls I sacrificed for illicit conversation. I think of the crimes I committed when I was unrecognizable to even me. Most people do not try to see the full picture. I am guilty of focusing on the side that favored my parts in the story.
It means nothing to say you will be there, or to pledge allegiance when you do not have to prove yourself. It is easy to believe you are the martyr, when you refuse to acknowledge another person’s scars.
I am guilty of caring too much about other people. And I am guilty of not doing more for my self. But I will set this Earth on fire, before I burn my light out for anyone else.
I am waiting patiently with bated breath
for you to tell me I am different. That in
all of the numerous love affairs from your life–
I am the only one you could never set free.
I crave wistful imagination and wide
set eyes of hopelessly smitten affection.
I wanted you to look over at me in
the middle of the night with
a vibrant sort of expression.
But I am the one who lies awake–staring
at the cracks in my ceiling while you sleep
blissfully unaware next to me.
From the moment that I was able to believe
in love, I always thought those who are meant
to be were connected by more than just feelings.
We tread the line somewhere between
wishful thinking and absolute destiny.
Stacking expectation until it all falls down.
Can we exist in moderation? Will walking
narrow paths fit our individual goals?
Or are we squeezing the right shapes
into completely wrong holes?
I honestly do not know.
I just hope we learn to recover,
before we are forced to let go.
Flames of glory for the one who lost all control.
I picture this broken body with its propensity to feed
off my soul. Truth bears down on me, forcing me to
overcompensate. For my vanity. For my sadness.
For the bittersweet memory of my never forgotten
mistakes. You dropped your intentions in the middle
of a losing battlefield. Breaking dawn with our
destructive tendencies. I create out of darkness
what you can only obtain in peace. They said
there is no real hope for you or for me.
Tears wet my face as I violently shake the truth
from my mind. We are better together, no matter
what happened the last time. I wish declaring
what you wanted had the power to set you free.
But smoke is in the way and this fire is all-consuming.
He leaned in the door frame with a shadow cast over his eyes from the hallway light. He looked down pensively as she stood in silence behind him. Neither wanted to be the first to walk away but both understood that something needed to change. Maybe if I was awake I would have understood the significance of this goodbye. Night fell over the home as children slept under the weight of adult decisions.
Decisions that would affect the rest of their lives.
I wish I was intuitive enough to accept change with grace but all I remember is his absence the next day. Perhaps no honest explanation could have made a difference. After all, when you do not get to choose you must learn to accept what is given to you. Every day people fall out of love, break up and move on to brand new families.
None of which eases the pain of this modern day tragedy.
Years later, tales of love hit me like bricks in the chest as I mused on the idea of happiness. My experience of happily ever after left nothing worth desiring in my imagination. It seems the older we get the less likely we are to compromise–or seek a winning balance for both sides in the relationship.
So much easier to promise forever when your heart has not been broken.
I want to believe that anything is possible. I want to hope without fear that happy endings exist–that second chances can make all the difference. Because what have you really accomplished by leaving the moment it gets hard? Every bad thing that has ever happened leads you closer to the person who deep down you are.
The fights, the lies and the ugliest of goodbyes
…all have the potential to save your life.
Not a day goes by that I do not think of you.
Sometimes, I wonder where you are and let myself imagine you are available to me. Other days I shudder to admit the truth. I missed you on your birthday because I did not want to force the polite reply on you. You know how people you no longer talk to reach out on special occasions because Facebook reminded them to. Maybe you knew I would be this predictable. It is my hope though, that you do not think of me anymore.
It was selfish of me to believe people meant to be will eventually find their way back no matter what. Like this gave me a reason or excuse to act out of character and hurt you. Still, I carry my decisions with every ounce of integrity I can muster. Knowing that sorry means nothing when you hurt someone that deep.
There was a flame around us once. Pointing down the narrow path of self-control.
We may claim to be loving, but love requires us to be intentional.
I abandoned you when you needed me most.
The final truth I hold as distance forces me to let go.
The less I drink, the less I think about things that never belonged to me.
I bide my time in this recovery process, running for cover at the first signs of distraction.
The world keeps turning. Regardless of what you lost.
New life yearns to breathe on its own, bearing a deeply personal cross.
I am determined. So much so,
that sometimes I forget to miss people who used to mean so much to me, before.
Before I became this conscience free woman,
I was an innocent girl once.
This is not a competition. I will not open up.
Every opportunity to build trust was broken.
Every love I thought was mine, is gone.
I am not sorry.
Not quietly desperate.
Or looking for restitution.
I would rather be alone.
They look for me in the strangest of places.
History–fixing their hooks in my heart.
Egos driven by the need for confirmation.
Clawing deeper, until they draw a spark.
Parts of me used to be attracted to the fire.
Fixated upon a course of unlimited passion and reward.
I was a dreamer, madly in love.
Chasing after the high, deeply unsatisfied.
Craving more until I was completely consumed.
Broken down in ways I never thought possible.
Reminders flash across my computer screen.
Promises burn in my memory, unwilling to go down with this ship that is sinking.
I chose not to listen, every warning sign went dangerously unnoticed.
I knew from the beginning our connection was penetrable.
We behaved like children whose parents intervene before they drift off course.
But our rescuers were silent witnesses, who let us float along.
Maybe they too, believed the lies we told in naivety.
Leaving us to our own terrible devices.
Maybe we were always meant to be sacrificed.
And the love meant to last forever, was never ours.