I should have known when I saw you looking through me, from my chest to my spine, after only three weeks. It wasn't a stare, just a glance, but it felt like indifference in its purest, most basic form. Yet I continued on because I have faith in things that no one else does. I have boundless faith, especially if it may eventually cause me harm. I am the eternal optimist, keeping the good in the forefront while sweeping the rest aside until there is so much of it that it crumbles over me like the breaker along the shoreline that I thought I could ride but ended up pummeling me instead.
I should have known when I was kneeling on the sidewalk outside my house, vacillating between sobs and pleads, simultaneously begging for you to stay and demanding that you leave. I wanted to be held while you walked away so I let you assume both roles: villain and savior. Then we were both confused and that was the ultimate comfort. It allowed me to remain stuck because you were stuck, too. We were twins, shadows following each other seeking guidance and truth but receiving only blame.
I should have known when you called me broken on the last night of my 37th year, which was a good year for me. One in which I found I could not only get by without you, I could thrive without you. I felt the most whole I had felt in years that night and yet you still saw pieces. For someone who claimed to love me so much, you assumed that's what I wanted: to be loved. But all I really wanted was to be heard.
No comments:
Post a Comment