The Story Of Us.
It’s not my intention to rehash the ugly parts of our past, but I want to spend some time remembering.
The story of us made stronger through complication.
Can’t you recall those distant days when I couldn’t hear you, and you couldn’t hear me, and neither of us were willing to bend or break our rigidity? Remember those times when you targeted me with your gaping wounds, and I caught them as though they were mine, only to return them with a greater force shielded with salty tears? Was I so wrong to feel an ounce of pleasure watching you flinch from the sting? I, too, was raw and needed to share my pain because I couldn’t bear the brunt of it alone.
I loathed those days of darkness that were somehow necessary in spite of causing sheer torment on two lost souls. It was all so frightening – the way the earth shattered beneath my feet, and I couldn’t stand with you there in your smoldering mess. It laid in heaps, demanding to be nurtured or vilified, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, I had to clean it up with all the resentments that surged me forward into pushing you further away. What a grueling and gritty dance it was.
Sometimes, I hated you. Rage found me in fleeting moments – a type I had never known.
Yet – I realized I was mostly angry with me. Maddened for choosing to stay when I desperately wanted to go because I’d loved you much and thought it could heal you, but learned it simply was never my role.
And so we went through the familiar motions, staying together physically, because that was safest. Our connection was rotten at the core, painted black and grey like storming skies. Hollowed bodies touching each other with hearts emptied, and gone. Cocooned in our own cold worlds, equally lonely. You could only look at me with blank eyes – a vacant gaze I could no longer hold.
You released me without words, and I felt it in my bones.
And in my mind, I left you behind a thousand or more freeing times. Our insecurities splayed out before us, the entwined thread of our pasts gripping on; squeezing tighter through the years, until one day they finally snapped. And we almost died.
Yet, we actually lived, didn’t we? We survived those grueling rounds in our battlefield. Somehow, in some fragment of a second, a shift arose. A type of realization, that is inexplicable really, yet, there it was. And we began to heal with fresh eyes and a clean slate.
Now here we stand, in this place of wisdom – what we’ve learned as two people trying to make something of a complicated love, with you leading the revolution of us.
So, I wanted to say that I’m sorry. For not being what you needed me to be before now. I was too ashamed and so tied up in trying to keep myself together that I never listened through the chaos. My armor was much too thick; I couldn’t hear what you were trying to say.
And isn’t it ironic, that all this time I couldn’t give you what it was that I had asked for? But believe me, I am listening now.
And I’m sorry for targeting you as the one who caused my heart to spill blood. I was uncertain about us, what we were clinging to – trying to make it deeply work. I didn’t know, couldn’t know, or would never know if it was ever going to really be fixable. But you persevered. Thank you.
Oftentimes, I wonder if I should have apologized sooner. Maybe we’d have fewer scars reminding us of those agonizing years. Yet, I don’t take it all back because it was real in those burning moments, it was so very real. And that is what I yearn to be – real, with you, with myself, for us.