I'm sad about how things have devolved.
We're friends now; friends in that stilted, numb, conventional way that is pleasant and even gratifying amongst colleagues or friends of friends, etc.. But between us it just feels hollow, pretend. We both know there was something more to be had, and as it fades, the sadness is palpable. We talk, we're friendly, we're neither of us prepared to fully let go.
But you'll never take responsibility for your emotional neglect, and until you have, I'll never trust you. And of course I realize you can't; to open up to that means opening up to the entire prison of your life, which is terrifying and, from your perspective, inescapable. And perhaps it is, after a fashion; perhaps it always was. For me, it would have been enough to have had a happy life together, but I haven't a career and... entrenched... family ties, if not exactly close ones. The pain of parting from your painful like might simply have been too much, in the end, and prohibited any happiness for us from blossoming.
But I still see it, still remember those first few weeks. Like Megan, I'll honor it, never pretend it wasn't what it was, never let myself rewrite it as silliness and infatuation. It's a betrayal of sorts, not only to us but to the very thing "love", in the sense that it is used throughout the poetry of our history, is meant to describe. I was there, I felt it, I know you felt it. More than felt; saw, recognized. Bigger selves than we're used to being were brought forth and reacquainted. I was ready for that; I'd been there before, and I've so much less to lose, even if what you have to lose seems to bring you nothing but anxiety and pain. I don't mean that disparagingly; our connections, our foundations, the things upon which we construct identity and come to know ourselves with are important, in a mundane sort of way. And they are compelling, which is the more important bit.
But still. I wish it could have been different. I wish you'd chosen me, and that together we'd sorted it out. There was only so far I could go without you; we had to go together. And either you weren't ready, or I wasn't "the one", but I can't make myself believe the latter. I hope I'm wrong, but I suspect you'll think back to our time now and again and wonder. You always worried that I would get hurt. Of course I did get hurt, am hurting still. But if you're like me, you'll hurt more and for longer. The wondering, the what might have been... it doesn't go away. Cumulatively, it's worse, I think.
I fear now this will just peter out, fade away to the odd e-mail or phone call, joyless and obligatory. It's the worst denoument I could have imagined. Something great become barely anything at all, and all in the fading memory of the greatest. I would have been anyone for you, if you'd chosen me. But I know this much now; the ones who make it to the grave decided to go there together, everyone else be damned. Funny how that, for everyone else, it was whatever we might have been that was damned.
I'd have moved slower if I could Dhanushka. I'd have given you the time. We just didn't have it, and I suspect now we never will.
How embarrassing that it's not even goodbye.
We're friends now; friends in that stilted, numb, conventional way that is pleasant and even gratifying amongst colleagues or friends of friends, etc.. But between us it just feels hollow, pretend. We both know there was something more to be had, and as it fades, the sadness is palpable. We talk, we're friendly, we're neither of us prepared to fully let go.
But you'll never take responsibility for your emotional neglect, and until you have, I'll never trust you. And of course I realize you can't; to open up to that means opening up to the entire prison of your life, which is terrifying and, from your perspective, inescapable. And perhaps it is, after a fashion; perhaps it always was. For me, it would have been enough to have had a happy life together, but I haven't a career and... entrenched... family ties, if not exactly close ones. The pain of parting from your painful like might simply have been too much, in the end, and prohibited any happiness for us from blossoming.
But I still see it, still remember those first few weeks. Like Megan, I'll honor it, never pretend it wasn't what it was, never let myself rewrite it as silliness and infatuation. It's a betrayal of sorts, not only to us but to the very thing "love", in the sense that it is used throughout the poetry of our history, is meant to describe. I was there, I felt it, I know you felt it. More than felt; saw, recognized. Bigger selves than we're used to being were brought forth and reacquainted. I was ready for that; I'd been there before, and I've so much less to lose, even if what you have to lose seems to bring you nothing but anxiety and pain. I don't mean that disparagingly; our connections, our foundations, the things upon which we construct identity and come to know ourselves with are important, in a mundane sort of way. And they are compelling, which is the more important bit.
But still. I wish it could have been different. I wish you'd chosen me, and that together we'd sorted it out. There was only so far I could go without you; we had to go together. And either you weren't ready, or I wasn't "the one", but I can't make myself believe the latter. I hope I'm wrong, but I suspect you'll think back to our time now and again and wonder. You always worried that I would get hurt. Of course I did get hurt, am hurting still. But if you're like me, you'll hurt more and for longer. The wondering, the what might have been... it doesn't go away. Cumulatively, it's worse, I think.
I fear now this will just peter out, fade away to the odd e-mail or phone call, joyless and obligatory. It's the worst denoument I could have imagined. Something great become barely anything at all, and all in the fading memory of the greatest. I would have been anyone for you, if you'd chosen me. But I know this much now; the ones who make it to the grave decided to go there together, everyone else be damned. Funny how that, for everyone else, it was whatever we might have been that was damned.
I'd have moved slower if I could Dhanushka. I'd have given you the time. We just didn't have it, and I suspect now we never will.
How embarrassing that it's not even goodbye.
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