I have a hard time remembering the me before there was an us. Becoming so intertwined with each other, it’s as if we no longer exist as individuals. If there was a different version of my that once walked this Earth, she is a distant memory scattered through the memories of everyone who had the misfortune of meeting her. She was rougher than the me now, broken in places she wasn’t sure how to fix. The jagged edges caused problems in her relationships. But you were able to withstand them. You worked out the sharp corners. Maybe the pieces couldn’t all be fixed, but you found a way around them. And now here we are, the shadow of what we once were just a distant memory.
We live in a world where everything is temporary, yet everyone is so desperate to find something that will prevail. Perhaps this is why, when things turn toxic, we cling to each other in hopes of making it to the end together. We were one of those temporary things. But the beautiful thing about endings, it doesn’t make it any less real.
Sometimes it seems as though nothing ever changes and we are stuck in a never ending cycle. One were hope peaks in their absence and crashes in their presence. The same words are used as bullets and touching seems familiar. When history creates habits hard to break, it’s difficult to look passed all the bad.
Nothing has changed and I still feel the same, but every time I try to bridge the distance between, I get shoved back with both hands. And how many times can one person justify standing an arms length away, hoping for things to be different, to be better?
Constantly repeating actions creates neural pathways like walkways in our brains. Humans get stuck in these pathways, because it’s a way for us to run on autopilot. Less energy is used in this state because the brain finds tasks it knows how to do well, simpler than learning new things.
This is what loving you felt like. It was a habit, an addiction, a well-defined neural pathway. Maybe it serves it an injustice to describe it in this way, but I have been trying to make sense of why we feel the way we do.
I try to just go with it, letting these feelings take me where they need to go, but they have been known to take me straight into your arms, arms that have grown weary of holding onto a fleeting moment.
What happens to these pathways once the object of their creation is gone? How long does it take to fade? Because no matter how long you have been gone, I can’t seem to forget how to hold you. Maybe you were always more than just a neural pathway.
She told the truth so freely, as if it was flowing out of her like a coursing river. The kind that has the power to create a new path if it has to and there was no stopping it. She never held back a thing from me. Every word out of her was causing me to sink deeper. In the end I fell in love with her her truths.
It made me spoiled, because through all this we were keeping a huge secret from everyone in our lives. In the absence of eyes, our truths came out out when we were together between entangled sheets. I grew to resent the lying, with the truth craving to come spilling out of me like an overflowing bucket.
In the end it was the truths that caused us to come crashing down. We were one truth she couldn’t stand to face. It was the sin she could no longer carry. And when our lies could no longer bear the weight of the coursing river, the truths broke down the dam that send us to an ending neither of us had predicted among the passion.
You were sad and after failing to keep the promises to yourself, you found yourself soaking in intoxicants. Decisions were easy in this state; you were driven by simple needs and desire. There was no question of whether or not you should do this; you were going to do it regardless. Despite the desire to constantly be in control, you give in. You find yourself at her door, for the first time in years. It was as if nothing had changed and you were reliving a time when this was all you wanted.
I found that vodka would never be more intoxicating, than when stolen from your lips. But you are the worst poison for me, infecting organ systems with just one kiss. It was the fuel that started the wars because it seemed like I lost myself on this fragile line of feeling pain and causing it. These words became wars fought between lovers, who mistaken this life for a combat zone. Incessantly, firing rounds at each other. Narrowly, missing vital organs by inches. Did you really believe all was fair in love when you brought an arsenal to our first first date and placed grenades, instead of your hand in mine? I never wanted us to be at constant war, but more often than not our voices were raised against each other and we found that love was a battle that we could not win.
If I wanted a boring life, I suppose I wouldn’t be attracted to women who threw hand grenades into it. I spend most of my time running after them, trying to stuff the pins back in. Every so often one would go off before I could stop it. I would watch as the explosion caused broken fragments of collateral damage to slowly fall to the ground. In those moments I swear you could catch a smirk on my face. Now, please watch as history repeats itself.
I had nothing to lose and nothing to gain. I was at war with myself. Infantry and Calvary were charging their own men. Friendly fire, destroying everything I had built. I couldn’t find silence among the guns firing off. A peace and quiet I needed so desperately, but there was war in my head.
She is an ethereal being. Next to her we are merely peasants, yet you still expect her to be the one to fall to her knees at your feet. What have you done to be worthy of her? You call her beautiful a few times and you think that’s enough? What you don’t realize she is so much more than beautiful. She is a fire that burns so bright. She is a finely written book. She is the strength required to weather a storm and you have the audacity to simplify her with the word beautiful? Perhaps that is all you saw in her, but she will never just be beautiful.