Dreamscape

Part 2: A Tragic Love Story

The Love I Lost:

Somewhere inside I am still that girl brave enough to lay my head on your shoulder and sneak over to your house that afternoon. And somewhere inside you are still the boy who called me every day after school to continue the conversation we'd been having two minutes ago on the bus. I can tell up you I'm no longer that girl that called you at midnight with tears in my eye to tell you I'd done it again. But I wonder if somewhere inside you is the person who would give up his habits if I'd give up mine and would come over and hold me if I ever relapsed. I wonder if you wish I'd done that for you, because I know you say you try not to expect much so as to not get hurt. But what happened to the boy that let me hurt him foolishly nearly everyday? You wanted me and I didn't even want myself so how could you have at the time? I was giving myself scars a daily basis and I told you no every time you asked me to be your girlfriend... God how out of line I was. I should have said yes. And when I said yes, I should have loved you to the fullest of our hearts capacity... Because I never gave you something to believe in. I didn't give myself something to believe in... And now we don't talk, you don't call, and I don't have the bravery to call you for fear of not getting an answer, or worse yet and answer and a rejection. So yes, I can see why you fear disappointment and avoid expectations....
They say that there is always a right time for all the pieces to fall together. That afternoon in your room, that was it. I should have kissed you like I said I was going to. I should have told you everything. And I would pray that you would have kissed back. We should have fallen together like the puzzle pieces my mind and heart are now scattered in. That day was the day, the moment. We were both sober and clean, we were happy and just a breathe away from falling in love. And I didn't take that chance. I didn't jump, and I lost the daily phone calls, the music sharing, the snuggling and laughing and crying, I lost it all... I lost you because I was too scared.
So I promise to jump. Every opportunity I have I'm jumping all in. If I love it and it scares me I'm taking it and I will love it with such a burning passion that the light will spill across the floor and get every drunk on love like alcohol once did for me. It probably won't make a difference to you now. But it will make a difference to me. So if I never get back what I had with you, that will be okay, because I will turn that pain into light and laugh it out into everything I do from now until the day I find a person who affects me as much as you did.

Skeleton:

Let me not bare my soul to you, for I've already done that. Let me bare my bones to you. And if I do this, then will show me yours? For to show them to you means to break them, and bleed out for you. Will you do the same for me? I can shed my skin and my scars and show you my insides. I am an open book as deep as the surface but there are bones broken inside even I don't know about.

The Battle of Selfishness and Blame:

I saw a picture of a rose today while scrolling through photos. It was a light pink, late bloom, with one petal nearly falling off. It was sour rounded by dark fog. And underneath this picture it read:
"I've things to do today: I must crush memory down, I must turn my heart to stone, I must try living, again." ~ Anna Akhmatova, from "The Sentence."
Now for some reason this got to me. Because I felt that way. I do quite often actually. That feeling of just needing to restart, let go of past offenses and just try to live again, ignoring that pain inside, that yearning for things long gone. And yet I hated it. Hypocritically, I get angry when teenagers like me or older than me post things so sad and depressing and lost like that. Because it makes me feel a) like I'm not alone in my emotions but b) that I'm not alone so I'm no longer unique in my pains. It's selfish but it's true and I'm sure you've felt it before. Just wanting to be unique in a dramatic way so as to be cared for by the people you share your story with. So in this selfishness I convince myself that they don't know what they are talking about. That they just want attention, therefore I am blaming the selfishness on these people I don't even know.
But in the painfully truthful reality, I just hate them for recreating that feeling of abandon ness and neglect; for once again sparking that hot fire of pain that tastes like dried blood and copper pennies in my mouth and stings my eyes like a sleep that begs to be satisfied at the worst time possible. You hate it but can't make it go away so you must either succumb to it or push it down like you have so many times.
So really that selfishness is pushed back and forth between myself and this artificial reasoning that it's somehow someone else's fault. But at the end of the night I forget what caused the restarting of this fiery concoction of sadness and rage and I just think about him. The one that originally caused that feeling. The one that made me feel like I needed to "crush memory down...turn my heart to stone...and try living again."