I didn’t expect you to
know, didn’t expect you to change. Yet, I would have liked to elicit some sort of response from you, other
than a long, hard stare, followed by a cold and sharp, “really, and how the
hell do YOU know?” Oh, how horrible it
is to be trapped between two people! – trapped between to loves, between two
loyalties, between two thoughts. I
never wanted to be caught here, what kind of crazy person ever would?
I only ever wanted to
help you, you know. I only ever wanted to make peace between the both of you.
I only wanted to see
the lights, close my eyes and hear the loud, popping sounds. I put up with your
loudness, your insults, because I wanted so badly to feel small and meaningless
It is always the
moments that I think about, it is always the feelings that I remember
strongest, but it is the little things, things like this, the notes scrawled
messily on torn pieces of paper and folded up, neatly and tightly, and the
quick, awkward drawings on random papers and items, that hurt the worst. Perhaps
it is because how quickly and sudden they appear, how out of nowhere they seem
to come to life, shake me up, at the most inopportune times.
I would have, you know?
I would have.
I’ve admitted I was
wrong. I admitted the terrible person that I was. I have paid for what I did to
you, for taking that lovely heart of yours for granted. I have paid for letting
you believe that I loved you the most.
I learned long ago that
he was right all along: I am difficult
to like, and even harder to love.
was always so easy, for you to come here, sit, shake, scream. Tears
and snot running down your face while you begged me to stay, to
please not give you away
has never been that simple; you
have never been that simple. You never understood her or me fully,
always caught between your love for her and love for yourself. One
way or the other, you'd make her yours, but always on your terms.
makes you the angriest was that she didn't say goodbye. You don't
care that she did it, but that she didn't say goodbye.
up, kid, listen up.”
never did. Always staring off into the distance, hands shaking,
hoping to be somewhere else, imagining it was someone else's
cigarette smoke flying into my mouth and eyes. I never meant any
disrespect, you know, just wanted so badly to get the fuck out of
hope you didn't take it personally, it was never about you, always
about him, and knowing that the longer I stayed there the higher my
chances of encountering him, and the higher my chances of a long,
just wanted some peace of mind.
But that sort of thing
hardly ever happens quietly. Soon, she was there, asking if my mood was related
to her letter, though she already knew the answer.
“Lovers are temporary,”
she said, and I know she is right, that this is worth more than that. And the moment she said “I will never leave
you”, I knew everything was going to be all right.
I admitted something to
her that I hadn’t admitted to anyone in a long, long time. It’d been an even longer time since I’d
actually spoken about it. Sure, I
wrote it a few times, mailed that deep dark past of mine to complete strangers.
She always used to say that things as vile as that need to be shared, or else they will rot you inside. I’m not sure I
believe the consequences would be that extreme, but it is definitely a huge relief
to know that I have shared this with someone I love, and that she understands.
“Forget S, you already
know everything there is to know about her.
She’s right, I know it. It is just so
impossibly difficult to let go. It goes back, partly, to this fucked up,
endless, miserable guilt. The guilt that holds me back, keeps me here, tied,
pathetic. The guilt that makes it all too easy to cling to this dreary life, and
so difficult to pursue happiness.
Surely, all these years
must count for something. Surely I couldn’t just walk away, ignore you, never
let you make me feel like shit again.
What is it that I owe
Some lovely evening this
is, she said.
It always mattered to
her the way it never mattered to us, darling. Always with her head lifted high,
a glass or bottle in one hand, cell phone in the other, waiting anxiousl, just
wanting to be liked, loved, perhaps even acknowledged. She said you showed her
something inside her she never knew existed –something beautiful, raw,
incomplete and full of life she’d never seen.
I say that thing only
existed in her when you were with her. I say she was only beautiful when you
made her so, never on her own.
was never about love with you. It was always so completely about
power –pulling her toward you, holding her throat against the wall,
demanding answers, demanding loyalty. Her body was yours, you always
said, to touch and kiss and give to the world, if you so desired. She
never did know how to get away, never understood what she had done
that the others hadn't.
you, sitting in that blue chair, laughed while she fell so completely
apart, the needles still in her arms, a bottle resting against your
lips, a wad of cash in your pants.
a filthy place for such a pretty feeling. Such a bright place for
such a dark thing to happen. Her hands on my waist, her lips on my
neck, my nails on her back, both of us breathing hard, barely
interested in air, not caring that any minute he could be just a few
loved her in that moment for the things she did to me, for the
courage she had to follow me, slip in that stall with me, kiss me
hard. I loved her in that moment, for knowing what I wanted all
Sexuality is complicated. None of the
people I've loved have ever made it any easier. I can't for the life
of me figure out what this turmoil is inside me, or how to find an
answer to it. Will i ever overcome this? Who knows.
Really, who knows. I dream of it, yes, i dream of finally being free
of this,. i dream of doing wild things, of having courage to take a
risk, and of one day being completely happy, completely at peace. But
i don't thin it's unreasonable to consider the possibility that that
may actually never happen.
Even after we lost most of what we had
in common, we remained friends out of convenience, and even though we
spent pretty much every lunch together, we never talked the way real
friends talked. We never liked each other the way real friends liked
each other. You found it funny when I felt awkward, or nervous, and
found humor in my misery. I grew frustrated with you, and thought you
were an irresponsible idiot. We never talked to each other about our
passions, broken hearts, long nights. This was OK with me. This has
always been OK with me
I was only a kid when i loved her, but
i really did. She was my neighbor, we did almost everything together.
We played house, played little people, went bike riding and
rollerskating, everything. She often stayed over at my place and we'd
stay up all night talking and playing and watching movies. It really
was a happy time in my life. It felt wrong to love her
because i knew that she was the straightest girl i'd ever met. i
shouldn't have loved her because it was unfair to her, and because in
the end it destroyed our friendship.
My time here is
limited. They’ll find me soon, better run along.
Thank you for the life
you gave me.
i resent a lot. i resent the unfairness
in the way you raised my brother versus the way you raised me. i
resent the fact that you’ve said many hurtful things to me in the
past, and i resent that you gave me very little room to have fun, or
to express my creativity and openly get to know myself, develop a
personality, beliefs, and so on. so much of it had to be done in
secret. i also resent the fact that a large part of your parenting
style involved fear.
I love you, but you fucked me up.
“Your skin is so soft”.
Nothing else matters in this moment.
Frustration, guilt, anger, anxiety, loneliness – none of it
matters. Who I am, what I do outside of here, outside of you, is
irrelevant, just like where you've been and where you'll be when we
leave each other. When our lips separate, our bodies detach, when our
laughter is no longer in sync.
I'll miss you when you're gone, but I
probably won't think of you that often. After all, how can I be
expected to keep track of every one of these moments, these faces,
It's a lot of work – loving someone
like that. Giving up every part of what you were is a necessity, to
which he easily complied. Nobody ever loved more than he does. It is
a mystery why. It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but there
is something terribly unsettling about such a nice, pleasant human
being loving such a wretched one. Yes, wretched. Her own words, years
before, when she sought to elicit sympathy from me, guilt. She
succeeded then, and to this day I wish I'd told her to just fuck off
and walked away.
I need courage, and the ability to not
give a shit about hurting someone. I am tired of you making me feel
like shit. I am tired of your whiny voice and little devastating,
depressive episodes and of making a huge deal out of everything. I am
fucking exhausted of your unreasonableness. I am tired of everything
revolving around you, goddammit. I am a person too. I matter, too,
even if you don't seem to give a damn.
I am going to try to gather up the
courage to do what I need to do to get away from you.
One.One more year of this hallway,
this desk, those creaky doors. One more year of the security guard
getting up and smacking the doors back into place after some idiot
fails to notice the button on the wall and instead attempts to
manually open the door. One more year of that stubborn door lock and
that old mailbox . One more year of community kitchens, reading
periods, late nights at the Reg, 171, Cob coffee shop. One more year
before I need to decide what in the hell I'm going to do with my
life.Less than that, really.
I was not expecting an apology, or an
understanding, or even a fucking change of mind. I just wanted
acknowledgment, just a short reply would have been enough. Instead,
you're going on and on and my head is starting to pulse, ears are
starting to warm and the frustration is beginning to build in my
You have always been so good at letting
me forget that I matter. You have always been so good at making me
feel that unsettling, burning frustration that makes me want to both
cry and punch your face at the same time.
A sturdy balcony, a state I'd never
thought I'd be in, their voices in the window arguing. I swear I
heard my name.. I hear his hushed, deep, whispers, her whiny replies.
She has always sworn this world revolves around her, has demanded him
to change his to do so as well. There won't be many days here, you
know, there isn't much more time left. For some reason or another,
she is upset, and he is in there with her, trying his best, while I
enjoy one cigarette after the other, the low music and the cool,
Your love is somewhat twisted. I know
my loyalty is not supposed to be to him but I would be the first to
admit that he deserves better. He deserves a relationship, not a
dictatorship. He deserves someone to laugh with him and appreciate
his good humor and jokes instead of causing an overly dramatic
argument over them. He deserves someone who will do anything in their
power so that the financial responsibilities don't all fall on him.
You've got him tied around your finger because somehow he's come to
believe that he could never do any better.