This can't be the it, can it?
It's been a while now. Long enough to have the facts fade away into a mere memory, but not long enough to stop feeling the pain. The pain that lives up to it's promise of being faithful to me better than you do, or ever could. The real issue was I never did blame you, or ever could. But as I sit on a couch narrating our story to a friend, the pain felt as fresh as it did, the first time I felt it- that shooting pain from within my chest that caused a knot in my stomach. I couldn't explain it then and I can't explain it now, not to you or to myself. So I carry on with my animated monologue only to realize it's not much of a story. We don't have a story and we'll never have one. But what we do have is rare too- white noise. Special? Not so much. But rare, indeed. The kind of rare I couldn't explain then and I can't explain now.
I think the problem is I remember everything. Or is it that I can't forget? There are some memories that play like the scenes of your favourite movie, in your head. You're one of those. Every once in a while, seemingly out of nowhere, there are white flashes of memory. In remembering the facts, the incidents, the places, the clothes, I'd remember the laughter, the tears, the denial and the restraint. I think the problem is that I remember everything. Or is it that I choose not to forget?
I'm being vague again, you'd take no time to point out. But that's just me. It always has been. But in being ambiguous in my expression, I gave you the biggest gift. In being vague, I let you believe it'll be fine. It always worked that way, right? But as i talked in circles and took long pauses, could you not see the pain in my eyes? My eyes always gave it away- them bastards. You watched them every so closely, out of the corner of your eye, slyly. And then you looked away, just like that. The thing is, I was watching you closely too and in knowing each other so well, we always knew what was not being said. But we both ignored it. I was scared and you weren't ready. And then I wasn't ready and you weren't interested.
So we never had a story, you see? Because all we had was denial. We denied the drama, the anger, the pain and the love. Love, they say conquers all but ours couldn't conquer our denial. I'm still very cautious about it, you know. I laugh you off as a bad memory and occasionally quote us as what's not meant to be. But if you exemplify everything wrong and unfunny, why is it that I can't forget? And what can explain this knot in my stomach?
I think it's because we never put an end. We're supposed to draw a line, apparently. I'm told an actual line helps. But I wouldn't know cause we just faded away- in different directions. Not opposite, of course- we're not even synchronized enough to do that right. So we're stuck this way- dull and faded in different directions that are neither parallel nor opposite to each other. We still know all that hasn't been said but we continue to ignore it. So all we're left with is restrained anger, unexplained betrayal and memories of some bad mood swings. I'm also left with pain. The kind of pain I like to keep a secret because I assume that would nullify it. I know am wrong. I know you think am silly. But I'm exhausted.
So is this what it's come to? We don't have a story . But will we never have one?
This can't be it, right?
Or is it?