Feb 20, 2016

You would think that. That you love me and you hate me. And when you tell me you want me to hate you-I won’t. I gave enough energy over the last seven years trying to love you and get you to love me I don’t have any energy left with which to hate you. I’m looking for that space where I can tuck you into my heart. I’m using the memory of you and us to fill that crack, and I’m cementing with my own power to rise from the ashes that persist from the final last time I tried to enter the fire you fucking set. Don’t be confused. It was not a heat of passion, but a conflagration of selfish conquest. A consecration of all things unholy. It wasn’t beautiful. It was a fucked up pattern of hurt and unavailability. 
 I’m not a prize to be won. I’m not a challenge to have conquered. I am the power you sought, but could not gain. I even tried to hand it over to you. I tried to teach you. I tried to show you how to melt. But the only rocks that ever melted are the ones that went the deepest into the core of their own earth. 

Andrea Gibson wrote, “love. It isn’t always magic. Sometimes it’s melting where it’s black and black blue. Where it hurts the most.” But there was no melting. Just stone throwing. I’m just black and blue. I don’t love you. I don’t hate you. I’m just healing. 

July 2014

She sent me a text message. 

Robotic, disconnected, impersonal

Words received and redirected from another to me. 

Words like; unfamiliar territory, no more contact, and most hurtful

A relationship is not something I can have in my life right now. 

These words are engrained behind my eyes. Lingering in the space between my perception and my consciousness. 

They have shifted in meaning numerous times as I cycled through my grief; extending through about two years of my mid twenties. Some before and some after, this message was the climax of our tainted love chronicle.

But this is a story within a story, as life so often is. 

Today, I know that if she could have, she would have just told me she was scared.

But fear is never that simple. 

It wears disguises, and blames those around us. And shame is more hurtful for the sorry than the other party. 

One year ago today, she walked out of my life, silently. 

Today, I sit in silence and thank her for all the moments we have shared, all the moments we have missed, and mostly for the opportunity to have new moments together. 

A life in which text messages are not the only safe form of communication. Disconnected is only our choice to escape from the world outside in order to be more together. 

Robotic is reserved for the machines, which we are decidedly not. 

She left me less than human, and returned in the most beautifully put together human version of herself. 

It is nice to have this human relationship. 

It is nice to feel so humanly loved. 

It is nice to know that I was somewhat capable of letting her go and rewire herself. 

Connection is not something we can fabricate. 

Connected to her was something I had always felt.

I could sense it when her life was moving in different spaces despite our no contact rule. 

I missed her every day. 

Trying my best to move on, only to discover that it was an illusion I had provided to myself through my own actions.