I’m not quite sure how you manage to keep tugging at the string’s attached to my black heart. I should not have engaged you further in your game but the ipa made me do it. I wish I was there with you, you wrote. Me to, I wrote back, but didn’t send. I wish you had been sitting there with me, sharing the ipa, and soaking in the sunset. I wished that you were laughing with my friends I, as we were caught in a simple summer moment. You made other choices, send. Instead I sent hurt that was boiling over with frustration. Do you provoke me because you like the game? Your words are loud and clear. Yet you contradict yourself. I think we met 10 years to late. The decision seems heavy but it’s actually very simple. If when you think of me you can’t imagine letting me go, then you have to fight for me. If not, then release me.
You make me feel like a possession. Like something that you need to collect. Yes babycakes you do. I cannot be with you because I want more. Your selfishness blooms with each message. I cannot spend a friendship sucking in heavy breaths of unrequited love. I am done being Helena. I told you from the start that I don’t like to play games. Especially ones that bounce my black heart back and forth in the late midsummer’s air. I am still puzzled how I can feel such warmth. How it bounces from me to you yet you don’t feel it and you drop it cold and fast.
The tiles on my bathroom floor feel cool against my cheek. I sensed this is where I would end up from the start. Yet I just closed my eyes and jumped anyways. The exhaustion wraps around my body a little to tight. I’m suffocating. My phones beeps with messages from you. You choose to place the final period at the potential of us. Yet you keep demanding answers. I am a writer with no words. My pen is dry no longer able to translate the feelings trapped in my brain. I need to scream at the top of my lungs but there is no energy to push the sound out. The second the guard goes down you go in for the kill. Leaving me alone once again to pick up the pieces from my bathroom floor.
I’m widely conscious of how lucky I am. I have friends and family that love and care for me. My life is busy packed with party’s and bbq’s and dinners. Working to help people who remind me their problems are far greater then my own. Paddling in the boat with the salty breeze hitting my freckled face. Because of that I feel guilty. Yet sometimes I don’t know if it’s just me or if the darkness is creeping back in. My chest is heavy with what if’s. Trying to nurse my black heart back from your potential lies. It’s dying from being ignored. I should have walked away when I had the chance. Instead I find myself shutting off for awhile. It’s as if my body is Velcro-ed to the bed. I just don’t have the strength to pull myself out and get back at it. Just once can I be worth the effort? Trust me if you let go you would find out that I am.
Exchange. Share. Communicate. Lived experiences. Shared hurt. Dark corners. Laughter. Light. Smiles. Sweat. Touch. Adrenaline. I am a permeable membrane. Yet the more that is exchanged the quicker you disappear.
In our highly sensationalized world we often define ourselves with things. It is the things that help to create a distance of artificiality. Your lover must get you something beautiful to wear, to eat, to see. On the surface it responds to the idealized notions of love.Yet for me I crave the simple things. Reveling in little pleasures. Pizza in bed. Hemingway read out loud. The exchange of hurt and hope. And with that I’m genuinely getting in deep.
To always be cast in a certain light is a damn shame. How does one break through. I cannot control another humans feelings. How can I change their perception. I felt this before it happened. Casual signs that set off mini flares. I could feel the pain resting on top of my shoulders. Waiting. Just waiting. I’m so exhausted. I’m lost in the confusion. They are never quite sure. They always still want me in some capacity just not completely. This contract is about to be terminated. It does nothing but reinforce the loneliness that lives in my black heart. What I fear always materializes. Never quite worth the effort. Or simply an afterthought. Or a realization when they loose what they had. Regardless of the thought process the end result for me is the same. An initial rush of hope and potential. Which is slightly tarnished when the worry flags are raised.
Love me. Pick me. Choose me. I guess we can’t always get everything that we thought we wanted.
It’s such a relief when something that has been static for so long suddenly shift. Emails, Texts, Calls have propelled me to this moment. I sit waiting. My hands shaking. My heart pounding. I can feel each insecurity as it gnaws against the walls of my heart.
Thump, Thump, Thump.
With each word spoken, carefully laced with authenticity and truth my heart rate begins to slow. The world shuts down around us. I’m lost in the fine lines in his forehead. Hanging off each, noun, each verb, each conjunction. Devouring each fleck in his eyes. I’m starving yet I hardly touch my burger.
Thump, Thump, Thump.
The table is small and hardly fits our food yet it feels like a gigantic barge creating far to much space between us. As we emerge outside into the cool, damp darkness—I clasp his hand. Rough and warm and comforting.
Thump, Thump, Thump.
The clock bursts with steam behind us. Under white light and rain drops the exchange of energy is palpable. On my way home my poor black heart imagines having to peal itself off the bathroom floor. It’s worried that it may never recover. For now I push that aside as I wait for another breath of fresh air.
I sit with the girls on a king size bed, drinking wine from hotel mugs. Truth, laughter and comfort come from nights like these. Were amongst the eyelashes, lipstick, and heels we pour out our hearts and laugh until the tears stream down our cheeks. The best relationships come from friendships. You already have that base and that sense of who they are. Truth. That’s the worse part of dating. Those awkward moments were you try to build that base with strangers yet all I desperately want is to skip through the preliminaries. My Ancient women tells me this is going to happen. Confusion. I can’t say I have never thought about it. Well not at least for a long while. Maybe because it could be a good fit. Maybe because i’m scared to have someone give themselves to me as much as I would to them. My black heart has been pretty bruised lately. It no longer lives in hurt but rather echoes the sentiments of The Lumineers The opposite of love is indifference. Yet how do I know that there is an opportunity for more. Uncertainty. What if I throw the dice of the wise women’s prophecy only to be shot down? This could very well happen. Worse then risk with a stranger because you can never go back to what you had. The stakes are higher. There is so much more to loose. Similar. Sometimes I feel like we have lived our lives parallel to each-other. Others are scared to be with us for fear they will break us. We are not so fragile you and I. Yet…. I can’t help wonder if I too might break you. As I have broken other’s in the past. I don’t like that we are treated as if we are pieces of a glass menagerie. Could the ancient women be right? Are we approaching a point were we will intersect?