"I try to call you names… but every time it comes out the same…"
I guess I should be happy about the fact that I don't care if you care anymore.
But it annoys me, the revising of our history, the you and me in us, that you must have done somehow to be able to deal with pushing me away so gently.
What was it with you and me and what we did that you could never accept? Don't worry, I know, and I won't tell here… I don't want to embarrass you.
However, you are the only one I have lost, that I have never been able to reconcile with. The only one with whom I couldn't have a promise of betterment and a new commitment. I divorced you and you didn't even know, when I was miserable grieving what we once had you didn't even think of it as being lost. You only thought of how to get your hands on the texts, those that I used to write for you, but didn't anymore.
You said - Oh that's mine, let me do it!
And I thought what the fuck, my words are mine, write your own. And then I grieved you.
I still make up foolish hopes. Like how you would show up at my birthday party, all changed and willing and contrite. Bloody fool. Of course you don't, you have no impulse to be contrite, you were never willing unless I was.
What bugs me the most now is the idea that I have let you go, but I can let go of what you made me. There are things that only we did, music only we listened to, texts I only showed you. And you bore into me so deeply I can't let you go. And now and then I miss you, madly. The you I knew. Whoever that was.
Yes it is true I loved you, coveted you, and craved you. Perhaps you didn't crave me and that is alright somehow. But I know I meant more than this. And I hate your revisionist approach to the life we lived, the stories we wrote inside each other. It makes me feel fake. A make believe version of myself, with make believe memories and fake ideas of myself, and you. But it doesn't matter that much what my image of you is, I just hate that you terrorized my image of me.
I try desperately to regain what you have forced me to connect with you. Although, sometimes I can't.
It's that music, my first ever meeting with you was play backed by it… it was the soundtrack of whatever we did and the theme of me missing you when you were unobtainable. Vainly I put it on the playlist for my party…as a hex, a spell…foolishly hoping still.
And when those dark musky tones starts playing I can't help but feel run over by how hard it is to have lost you, you slipped through my fingers even though I tried everything I knew to keep you. And the hardest part is knowing it isn't something I did, you just didn't want me, did you?
We are pissed and giggly and have measured our complexes to the inch to see who had it worse, and that song starts playing again, and she (apart from you) notices the gloom in my eyes…
What is it?, she asks.
And I say it's you.
Do you want me to turn it off?
No! No, I say all of a sudden! Put it on, put the entire record on, I need to overcome this!
And she does…
It's then that I realize, you will never go away, I will never be able to reconcile because you will never be contrite. I will just have to accept that this will hurt for longer than I thought. My foolish softhearted constitution allowed you drill yourself into my bones and I smile wanly at her..
..for I know that constitution I detested so because it let you in and will never let you out, also let her in..and all the others who will never leave like you left.
And I guess I should be happy about that, and about the fact that I won't ever have the opportunity to be disappointed with you..ever..again.
