so i should just write down the story. from the beginning to the end. anything to relieve its existence. to be out of the way.
but it’s so annoying to think about in the first place. i’m already so bored with it. or maybe its unrecognizable strings just blindly swing in the wind. i carelessly brush them from my face. unable to see the intertwining strands, how they hold together to create these flames of thought, gently scratching my face.
it was high school and i had yet to experience something bigger than myself. i’d always had full control over the length of my living — sitting on a windowsill while my history teacher stared at my breasts — realizing the power i held.
and i’m not even sure of why i was initially interested. maybe it was because he was becoming a man. or that my best friend called him hot. but possibly, it started out as it always did — he had an unwavering dedication to my every step — an apprehensive approach that allowed me to bleed out the intimidation he felt every time we talked.
i’d always been obsessed with power.
so i liked him.
and then he introduced me to the larger side. where the ups knew no bounds and the downs gravitated only anything with a lack of light. i didn’t know life could be like that. and i was searching.
so i fell in love.
but then he took things away. and then would give them back. take. then give back. and i see now, that it was turning into the very first time in my life a that a man did that to me. i became timid and childlike. cowering in the grandness with a limitless curiosity. not believing in my father anymore. building a church with the severity in his eyes.
and there i was — a floating feather, capturing only enough weight to carry me off. somewhere different than before.
so then he took me into a center of chaos. an idealized foray into my world, forgiven. startling my existence into this dream of drugs and freedom — salt into my wounds to shock me real.
and i believed him.
so then we were right there. both of us. looking out at the distance all the way down.
and then he pushed me.
so i climbed back up.
and then he’d push me again.
and then i’d climb back up again.
until, my arms hovered with this thickness. and i grew a vacuum of focus, seeing all of my fears. and then shooting them down like ducks, all in a row. the balance of our life, soon hanging on by a thread. and we became a couple with separate Darwinian stories of our own, retracing our previous steps, to mark out the lines to our forever now(s).
however, i got in the way. literally.
but thinking about it now, i was never afraid. ever. i’ve never been afraid to die. nor of someone hitting me. and maybe that’s why he did. cause he knew i wasn’t fragile and that i was stronger than him. i just don’t believe in physical violence. it doesn’t make sense to me. i think that’s why i can’t hit people in my dreams. i’ve never been able to. always so close, but i never make contact.
i just don’t believe in the physical manifestation of anger. it comes from fear. and that has more weight to me than anger.
so he was afraid. and i wasn’t.
so then i left. so easily. well, after the third time. in three months. but i was so disgusted by that time that it felt natural leaving. just another step. it’s so strange to me now, thinking how i stayed that long. accepting it as him just being him. that a person was still ok to be around me after the first time of it happening.
but drugs change you. and he became a ridiculous amount of wasted space. just a terrible person with an ego so afraid.
so i left.
but i am still leaving. every time. annoyed. needing a change. tired.
and it’s been almost ten years.
we tried to be friends. but he’s still his father’s son, pushing around his force. telling me where to park. manifest destiny.
and he thought we’d be together. after all of this time. that i’d somehow be able to forget that he took something away from me, forever. that i’m not getting back.
so i said no. and he said i wasn’t as comforting while i told him of a love he was so removed from that he couldn’t see me anymore. and we said goodbye.
and he has a girlfriend now. she’s pretty and young. i’m sure, seeing her strapping man as some handsome, level-headed spark. lighting her way. not knowing he’s just a bad person, wrapped up in trying to be good. that he’s used needles and people and has forced his way in, many times over. that he introduced death to his best friend. and only smiled to tell the end of the story. devoid of humility. now making up for all the lost time he stole. forever playing catch-up with the rest of humanity. and still having it in him to lay his hands on a woman.
so now i believe in hate. because i don’t want to forgive him. and i’ve used it as fuel to push me away into something more fitting. acceptable of what i’ve become.
a fragment of anything i’ve ever been.
and now i have to talk about it. and give it a name. acknowledge it so it can leave. because i don’t know who i am anymore. and i’ve been constantly losing sight of it all. debilitating delusion. stacking the hate into these little, neat piles to block out the good.
wishing to go. wanting to leave. forcing the stop. so i could at least have something pure of myself before he hit me. and left me with so many questions.
god, this is hard.
and so boring.