I feel like I’ve pushed myself to some kind of unforeseen limit. I went down a rabbit hole a little too far, took some wrong turns, then wound up where I least expected. It’s come full circle, I guess. I wanted some kind of connection, I think. Not necessarily a real one, just something to tide me over until whenever it becomes too much again. It was too much a month ago. Two months ago. Maybe even six months ago.
I get this weird, lingering ache in my chest, a tenseness in my jaw. People touch me and I flinch and shy away. But there’s a longing, a deep awful longing, that never goes away. It stretches out forever, with its spindled, scarred fingers, clawing. Maybe it’s at my heart. My soul. Some deep part of me I’ve never given away to anyone. Can you give away everything and really give nothing away at all? How is that even possible? How fucked do you have to be for that to happen?
Yes, my fire. I think you called it that. Maybe that’s what it is: a fire out in a dark world, and I’m alone, sitting patiently in its flickering light. No one can come for you here, the voices say, no one at all. I wait, linger. Waiting for the thing I desire to come walking by. Oh, how does it go again? I remembered it on the edge of a dream months ago, just a few words. Then today I stumbled upon it randomly, and it still hurts me somewhere like it did the first time I read it:
Remember me as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I,
Once I was, wasn’t I? But not now. Not anymore. Everything feels like another slash, another wound, something to hide and cover and conceal because you don’t want to look weak. You don’t want them to know. They can’t know. They can never know.
It all felt like such a travesty. Like a rehearsed play that I had already seen, long before it was set in front of an audience. I knew what he would say, what he would do. Except it was so much worse in person. I don’t empathize very much, but I did then. It was all I could feel through the utter, complete indifference. I felt bad for you. I felt bad for your blown pupils and the way you looked at me. I felt like someone playing a part they weren’t supposed to play.
“I’m the wrong one,” I wanted to say. “I don’t have what you want… They took it all away.”
But it’s a lie. I just didn’t want to give it to you, and they were too weak to take it from me. It’s mine. I’m greedy and I want to keep it. I want that fire out in the dark somewhere, I need it. I need it to live. I’m sorry you don’t understand. You’re not the right one. It’s not that I hate you. It’s not that I don’t like you. I’ve just played this game too many times before. I’m apathetic and bored and you’re decent and I’m not, and that’s really all it boils down to. I’m doing you a favor, I promise.
That doesn’t mean it’s not sad. That doesn’t mean I don’t regret, because even a short time is better than nothing at all, isn’t it? But we had our time and I don’t know that we will have the chance for it again. I needed you to stand in the part for me, because what I really want isn’t coming any time soon, if ever.
I wanted to feel something, and I didn’t. I don’t know, does sadness count? Disappointment? And not even disappointment for you, but for myself. I wanted to scream at my own apathy. My own inability to trust to even the tiniest degree. It ruins even the slightest chances I have at some kind of fulfillment, physical, mental, whatever.
I’m a fucking monster and you should have known when you looked at me. And you kept looking. You stared into my eyes like you saw something there. It’s like you didn’t know it was just a trick of the light. Whatever flickers down there is not for you. You’re a little rabbit wandering down a hole, you don’t see it for its teeth and dripping saliva, you don’t realize you’re in the gaping maw of some hideous thing that is patiently waiting for you to walk all the way in, straight down its throat.
There was this moment where I thought you might say it. You were looking at me and I was under you, and I tensed because I was waiting, waiting for the awful words to come pouring out and to have to answer in some half-hearted way. I’m glad that your phone went off and you looked away. I don’t know what I would have said. Probably nothing. I feel like silence is almost worse, really. I must seem like such a bitch.
But I learned something. And I’ll take that. I can’t feel with any of you. I’m just too far fucking gone. I feel something physically, a little, enough to keep doing it, but no one’s getting in my head or heart or wherever. I bricked it all up and sealed it away. It’s too fucking late. And it doesn’t matter because you’re not meant for me anyway.
The worst part is, I don’t even care. I can stand forever by this fire. Out in the dark. Alone. Til death do us part.
As I am now, so you must be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
But you’ll never be like me. Maybe you should be grateful. Go back to you home, little rabbit. I’ll let you go this time, but only because you were sweet and didn’t mean any harm. You treated me like a person, not just a hole to fuck, and I respect that. Admire it, even.
You fucked me with love. I don’t even know how to feel about that.
Thanks, I think.