Some real shit is discovering that the person you created in your head (cause let’s face it, you don’t know jack about them) is not the sensitive, intelligent, observer you spent nights imagining them to be. It took one casual sentence from one objective onlooker for the shutters to drop and my eyes are now viciously open. It’s almost laughable how I can create something out of nothing, how I can make the very ordinary and very flawed into something who could almost maybe probably hold the secret to saving me from myself.
In the words of the great Ada Maria: “Ok, you’re kinda sexy. But you’re not really special”.
Cue cruel reality checks. I am so caught up in my alternate reality that the only blurred lines are the ones I’m creating in my head. The facts: I am single- handedly destroying something that took years to build on a fragile foundation, for a cause and determination that I am frightened I don’t have the confidence or significance to carry through with.
It’s all a bit too far gone though isn’t it? No turning back now. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Where are the words I need to describe the dull ache in my chest every time I look at him without him knowing? He smiles and jokes and in his beautiful eyes I see the truth. His sadness is visceral. I know I have caused it and i’m sorry sorry sorry.
But I am ready to be bold again. I am ready to fill this empty vessel with things that make my blood pulse and my heart roar. Listen. I am ready to feel things again.
As the sun sets on another broken day, the shock of all that was said fades enough for flashes of realization to dart in and out of consciousness. What do I do now? I have to choose.
As though this is the last, deep, drawn and rasping breath of what is left. I want to hold it, suspend it; how do you let go of something that once before lit a fire in your belly? Someone whose very existence defines you. Until the awful truth - you are a shadow. A breeze. No solid foundation, no purpose, no desire, no passion. Years have passed and bit by bit time has eroded any personal uniqueness. The spark has gone. I once used to make up my own mind. I once used to make me proud.
And he knows it. He shoulders the blame and brings to light things I was too frightened to admit myself.
So we arrive at this foreign place, where I am facing forward with a hundred doors wide open. He wants me to turn back and try again. But how? When so much has been said? When the lights snap on at the end of a long night, you’re faced with the stark and often ugly reality of your choices. If only it was as easy as cringing, giggling and drunkenly running off.
I look at R and I can actually feel my heart break. Two of everything, one here, one there. Weekends with and weekends without. How do people do this and stay sane??
The same way people stay when they know they’re unhappy, I guess.
I guess it’s time to let it all go.