Bent Words

Bent Words

July 08, 2020

When this house falls quiet under the darkness of a dull, moonlit sky, I picture myself tiptoeing toward you, slipping in breathlessly beside you, cool sheets shifting with slow motion as though a weightier resistance could be found as my quivering fingertips search for skin.

By now you know the severe depths of my selfish heart. But I’m convinced you’d realize the purity of my love and the strength of my longing – a wall like a million minutes stacked up on top of one another, brick by brick – if I could just find you in the quiet shadows of the night. Where I know I fit. Where I know no greater comfort. I remember you there. I watched you, I listened, I inhaled, I felt and I fell.

All the frenzied things that occurred before the quietude were compounded by my memory then. I saw it all dance before me. I reveled in it. I sank right in and it never occurred to me that I would need to figure out a way to resurface from something I never wanted to let go of in the first place.

I knew what I had in the quiet night.

And I knew the fear would destroy me, too. Eventually, I knew. I just don’t think I knew the loss would be so great.

Although no malice intent could be found, what RIGHT did I have to not leave well enough alone? We made our choices, we moved along, we lived different lives. YES. I knew I would die to know you again but I didn’t see far enough in to know that I would die not to fucking hurt you. Old enough to know better, never old enough to let go.

I have refused it since always.

I sit beside myself and I sit beside you sometimes and I do have pure forgiveness here but how can you have that also? I’ve been reminded with every glorious second that I am incomplete but whose problem is that really? It won’t be fixed by anyone but me.

And so I see myself from somewhere else and I look at me and I am ashamed I’ve been so selfish. Like I’m always running in the wrong direction. I don’t even stumble there – I just fucking catapult myself into indecision and who have I hurt when it’s me who can’t be hurt any more?

I know how much I have loved but I don’t know if I comprehend how much damage I’ve done in doing so.

In these quiet nights I see the possibility – the autonomy I so desperately yearn to hold – but I’m not sure if I deserve any of it. Owning my mistakes and all… So I stand so still and I listen to the world as it revolves around the fact that I am not that big of a deal. It will not disintegrate if I falter on this path, it will not fold and cease turning, it will not hiccup over a bent heart (but it’s not me I’ve been worried about) and it certainly won’t feel all the things that I feel.

I see myself there. Whoever she is. And I DARE HER TO FUCKING MOVE.

Written at 7:08 p.m.