I don’t know if I like this enough to persist.
You seem to prefer fake, coked up charisma.
That was rude. I don’t know if that’s true, just things I’ve observed. I’ve grown tired of waiting for anything real.
That was harsh, this is harsh! I’m split in how I think of you. I get sweeter throughout, but there’s barbs when you meet me. Difficult, I know how I am. Hedging bets, unsure, is it a compliment or curse? This silver tongue has serrations, it does… but maybe you’d file them for me, you balance me out quite a bit; or do you like when I speak with the crack of a whip? Only when it’s not pointed at you… but I know you like whips, to be hurt, what then am I to do… your signals, I don’t know if you know what you signal. You don’t like to look at yourself, nor do you like my eyes, I’ve seen things and know things that you try to hide.
Truth doesn’t serve you, it’s better to hide behind mirrors and minds. Without moments of honesty love starts to wilt, and some prefer barren land to the upkeep of gardens. I want things you might not, I have come to accept this.
I shouldn’t be so harsh. I adore you. I want to conquer you, and you want it too; in a way, sometimes. At least that’s what I thought, I’m not sure. You don’t speak, you’re too hard to read—your eyes never lie but I no longer see them. What I’ve seen in you some days is not like the next, perhaps drugs are the culprit and with sobriety present you’d be silent completely to me—without interest or care, or some need that we share.
I’ve grown up with you watching, at least with you there. You’re complex and weird and that oddity suits me, I’ve watched you as well as you change and evolve, I do like that, age treats you well and there’s longing to this. Pages of text and calls that won’t connect have stood boundary to all I’ve been wanting… but if I were to have all that I ask, would it be enough? Not enough, that word isn’t right, but would it be right for us to go this way… there’s something there that needs resolution, and perhaps only in me does that turmoil brew.
For in you that longing does not seem as present, need for anything really to happen. When that passion does flare I don’t know to trust it, your heart doesn’t always come out through your words. I have learned from this, growing in distance, layers of boundary grow on me as scales—so that even those closest get some of my shell, when once there was a much clearer division between how I act among lovers, of blood, of compassion, and those I don’t know who garner my standoffish glare. Perhaps it is that I no longer know you—that ignorance realized in every relation, this element of mystery that splits me down the middle.
You’ve seen me deeply, I made sure of that. The bile and wretch, pouring, festering wounds. The light and the love there as well. Back and forth we played this painful game, but alone we still play it, all of us do. It took a long time for me to escape, to take off my mask and forgo the stage that makes up modern life. To blame you was of ill sport, you offered me what I required to grow. Bitter truths in a delightful candied coating, so you were.
So sweet was it that even knowing the next time that razors lie buried beneath this desire, I happily ate, and damn does that hurt. I’ll never learn, it’s simply too great. Like the lactose intolerant indulging in cheese! Though I haven’t this, and can eat all the cheese I like. Real milk drinkers in the chat.
Sigh.
Even now I desire your sting again.
In moments of reflection, that mirror shows two faces at least. You’ve seen me in several lights and don’t know which of me I can be. That brutality will always be there, I’m rude and I’m ruthless, cause pain and enjoy it… but that always fades, that beast is anointed and the guilt washes through me; that animal nature of man can overwhelm any. Though prideful, I know not to lie to myself—clear account of right action is important to me. To split light and dark and to master myself, so too is there love and most honorable things, and all wells are deeper than those you have known. These abysses of mine call out to your own.
Different of course, but there’s much overlap.
The manic projections, the rage and the guilt, I’ve felt what you feel. There’s terror in this, because you yourself barely hold on. Sometimes I egg on the spiral, I confront the dark waters and make messes for fun, chasing that madness to resolve our unconscious dilemma. But you’re strong, and you learn, when you break you start thinking and resolving wounds, not calling on others to save you. I’ve watched you grow up, through phases of life. It has me think fondly of doing that more, for us and what we make together.
Seeing what could be, I get ahead of myself. Potential does not always come.
We’ve spoke about this, that want to nurture new life. For all to play out in our journey, a partnered endeavor to cohere our lives.
I appreciate the stability I’ve learned, letting go has been hard but I’ve unwound the knots—with this comes the knowledge and safety of new bonds as well, life and death have found balance in me.
After the splitting, I found a great peace. This redemption. Though need arises it’ll never be quite how it was. I am clearer than I’ve ever been, pragmatic… I see how things can work, or how they won’t, and either will be fine to me. You do know what I’d prefer, but I’m not the only vote and I’ve lost even my nature to want to persuade. In efforts to conquer, I conquered myself. It’s all in your hands and I dropped from the race, I don’t chase, there’s no need.
You have your own life, maybe that path is better for you. There’s no jealousy left, I am done trying—I have been for some time and you feel it in me, but I won’t follow crumbs and play games without virtue.
You know where I am and I’m open to you, but life doesn’t stop flowing. When you make your decision, I may be long gone, but sorrows like this are quite common. I have grieved all illusions and buried them here. I am free.
I am free.
I am free to let go.