Reality Rising
Today, I fear, I must begin the process of grieving the loss of what, I'm accepting only through grit teeth and resisted denial, never was.
What a small and forgiveable thing, not to call, not to say "good night". A ridiculous thing to see meaning it at all. But in context, I can't currently understand how it doesn't say everything. Either you don't want me, or you don't want this, but no part of me accepts or believe that this wasn't a deliberate withdrawal. And that, sweet creature, at this stage, after what little we shared and given it's goodness, signs to me that I won't be allowed to love you, and you certainly aren't prepared to love me.
You did warn me you'd push me away, I'll credit it you that. But in return I promised not to remain when or if I at last saw the warning signs of danger, and to have shifted in only four days from the desire to spend a romantic weekend together, from claims of love, to a refusal to so much as press the ten buttons on a phone that might remind me I even exist.... I know you are hurting and confused. But either I do not represent a good thing, worthy of the keeping, or else you hadn't the sense to make the barest effort to keep something good. In either case, I musn't give myself to that and call it self-respect.
I'll hold to the hope that there is some explanation, but I don't see how there could be, really. So today the grieving begins, and grieve I shall. We could have been happy together. We really could have. I must try to be graceful in my own withdrawal, this is an emotional space I usually act poorly from and I want... I want not to have done that. I want to be the man who gave his best effort to someone worthy, and, finding her unready, gently withdrew. I don't really know how do it, there is so much emotion in my belly, hurt from which resistance brings so much helplessness that wants to be anger.
Why, Dhanu, why? Was it me, somehow, or are you just unable to hope or try? Do you just fear that this can never be and so are blowing it up before it has the chance to become something the loss of which you couldn't bear? Or... was I just another toy for another hurt girl looking to feel special for a weekend or two? Could I really have been that blind and stupid again? It doesn't make sense. This has to be fear speaking, but if it's so, it's fear screaming at a deafening pitch.
I know what I saw. I know it was real. Whatever happens—and it appears obvious, now, what will happen—that much I'll keep. It's just a matter of respect for and to our best selves who briefly met and then were torn from each other.
Fuck this feeling. Fuck this game. Fuck this world for dangling love in front of me and laughing at me for believing in it every time. And fuck myself for having too little self-respect and courage to be the man someone with the courage to want me would, actually, want.
Oh it's gonna be a shit day, I think.
What a small and forgiveable thing, not to call, not to say "good night". A ridiculous thing to see meaning it at all. But in context, I can't currently understand how it doesn't say everything. Either you don't want me, or you don't want this, but no part of me accepts or believe that this wasn't a deliberate withdrawal. And that, sweet creature, at this stage, after what little we shared and given it's goodness, signs to me that I won't be allowed to love you, and you certainly aren't prepared to love me.
You did warn me you'd push me away, I'll credit it you that. But in return I promised not to remain when or if I at last saw the warning signs of danger, and to have shifted in only four days from the desire to spend a romantic weekend together, from claims of love, to a refusal to so much as press the ten buttons on a phone that might remind me I even exist.... I know you are hurting and confused. But either I do not represent a good thing, worthy of the keeping, or else you hadn't the sense to make the barest effort to keep something good. In either case, I musn't give myself to that and call it self-respect.
I'll hold to the hope that there is some explanation, but I don't see how there could be, really. So today the grieving begins, and grieve I shall. We could have been happy together. We really could have. I must try to be graceful in my own withdrawal, this is an emotional space I usually act poorly from and I want... I want not to have done that. I want to be the man who gave his best effort to someone worthy, and, finding her unready, gently withdrew. I don't really know how do it, there is so much emotion in my belly, hurt from which resistance brings so much helplessness that wants to be anger.
Why, Dhanu, why? Was it me, somehow, or are you just unable to hope or try? Do you just fear that this can never be and so are blowing it up before it has the chance to become something the loss of which you couldn't bear? Or... was I just another toy for another hurt girl looking to feel special for a weekend or two? Could I really have been that blind and stupid again? It doesn't make sense. This has to be fear speaking, but if it's so, it's fear screaming at a deafening pitch.
I know what I saw. I know it was real. Whatever happens—and it appears obvious, now, what will happen—that much I'll keep. It's just a matter of respect for and to our best selves who briefly met and then were torn from each other.
Fuck this feeling. Fuck this game. Fuck this world for dangling love in front of me and laughing at me for believing in it every time. And fuck myself for having too little self-respect and courage to be the man someone with the courage to want me would, actually, want.
Oh it's gonna be a shit day, I think.
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