I have spent what feels like my whole life trying to convince you to love me. It was probably only a few days, a few months, a few years, or a few decades, but it feels like my whole life. And that is why, when I get these messages from you-- so business-like and perfunctory, like you are leading a board meeting or presenting your annual budget-- I feel so defeated. I try to remind myself that I am lovable and worthy of so much more, but my heart sinks and I feel hopeless.
Hopefully hopeless, I called myself to my friend recently (or was it hopelessly hopeful?). Endlessly looking around the corner for the next big thing... But also wondering if she just left...
I wish there were words to make this okay. That's part of the reason I can't yet bring myself to talk. There are no words to bring you back to me, heal my heart and make me not love you or make you love me, like I've wanted for so long... It's this denial and negotiation that makes me forget each slap in the face; choosing to remember the happy events that have not yet happened and those that happened only with you.
I try to remember the first time you told me this lie so I don't get wrapped up in the fantasy of memories never made. I believe you believed it to be true, in some respect. But, I saw the pictures so I know the truth was only half told. That weekend felt so lonely and painful, like you had stabbed me in the back and then turned to walk away. So, in looking forward to the next weekend that would result in the same half truths, I can't help but reflect on the time I have spent trying to convince you to love me, or to want me to be your companion, your equal, your dance partner, your date... But you do not so I am not.
I remain, so many days, months, years or decades later, this dirty little secret from which you can't help but disassociate. The one that was never on your arm, but always in your bed.
And so I turn away, toward the days, weeks, months, years and decades before me... toward the one that can't help but bleed love all over me... to the one that erases the hopeless out of my hopefully hopeless heart.
Hopefully hopeless, I called myself to my friend recently (or was it hopelessly hopeful?). Endlessly looking around the corner for the next big thing... But also wondering if she just left...
I wish there were words to make this okay. That's part of the reason I can't yet bring myself to talk. There are no words to bring you back to me, heal my heart and make me not love you or make you love me, like I've wanted for so long... It's this denial and negotiation that makes me forget each slap in the face; choosing to remember the happy events that have not yet happened and those that happened only with you.
I try to remember the first time you told me this lie so I don't get wrapped up in the fantasy of memories never made. I believe you believed it to be true, in some respect. But, I saw the pictures so I know the truth was only half told. That weekend felt so lonely and painful, like you had stabbed me in the back and then turned to walk away. So, in looking forward to the next weekend that would result in the same half truths, I can't help but reflect on the time I have spent trying to convince you to love me, or to want me to be your companion, your equal, your dance partner, your date... But you do not so I am not.
I remain, so many days, months, years or decades later, this dirty little secret from which you can't help but disassociate. The one that was never on your arm, but always in your bed.
And so I turn away, toward the days, weeks, months, years and decades before me... toward the one that can't help but bleed love all over me... to the one that erases the hopeless out of my hopefully hopeless heart.
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