I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while. Only it’s been twelve years and I don’t know where you are, anymore. The last time I looked for you, I saw that you’d done a live performance at a bar near your house that got a huge turn out and blitzed everywhere on Facebook. That made me so happy. That you were still pursuing your dream. Some dreams shouldn’t ever die.
Things have been strange for me. Recently my boyfriend got very drunk and said a lot of things, hurtful things, that have made me think, nonetheless. One of those things is that I’m an ’emotion hag’. I’m not sure if you know what one of those is. It’s like fag-hag, a gay man’s female best friend, only according to him, my area of expertise is people who want to talk about their emotions, not gay men.
And he meant it in an insulting way, because he was drunk and hurting and trying to be as hurtful to me as he could. It’s just one of the things he said, and one of the things that stayed with me, but I’m not sure it’s a bad thing at all. I tried explaining to him when he was sober that he’s right, it is a pattern of my behavior. I do ‘listen’ too much, and let people vent to me, but that’s because that’s all I can do for them. These are people who are hurting, and the least I can do is to listen to them. I don’t have the finances to help them and I don’t have any way of changing their situation- Hell, I can’t even change my own. All I can do is listen, give them someone to bounce thoughts off, so I do that. It makes him uncomfortable because he doesn’t like my ‘range of emotion’, or at least, the amount of emotion I fluctuate through on a daily basis. It’s not that he doesn’t feel the same. He does, he just doesn’t believe in acknowledging it.
He likes to think he’s above such base human tendencies such as feeling. Only he refuses to see, and I’d never point it out, but every time he gets that drunk, he does just the same thing we all do. We feel. We let ourselves feel.
I thought of you that day. It was not the first time I’d seen an angry drunk, but the frustration, the desperation to lash out at someone, to see them hurt the same way he was hurting… It made me think of you. You got just as furious every Friday, when you could drink without having to worry about work the next day. The odd beers in the week days would just leave you dour, and sometimes surly, but never full blown bitter. That was reserved for weekends, when you could drink yourself blind and blame me for being sixteen when you were forty already. For being young when you weren’t anymore, for having a future when you hated your job, for being smart, and for not moving to UK to be with you, or for having guy friends were closer to my age.
I think a lot of that went over my head at the time. I was just a girl, even though I won’t deny I was perceptive even for my age. But that only helped me handle your bad moods. It didn’t help me understand them, or understand that that the relationship was fundamentally wrong. I was not your muse. That sounds a little silly, said out loud. I was not your partner or your lover. I was a damaged young girl who was unbelievably grateful for even having anyone around me who said they loved me, or gave me any respect. Because what you gave me was not respect by anyone else’s standards, but compared to what I got from the ‘real’ people in my life, it was still one of the best things to be happening to me.
I got scared, though. Over time, I couldn’t keep blaming the beer believably enough, and I couldn’t justify your resentment of my not being there with you. And somewhere during that period I started growing a spine in secret. Still battered emotionally and physically, but a spine nonetheless. And I’m sorry. The entire situation had veered off from being a place of comfort to a place where more hurt stemmed from. I was an adult at sixteen, like I was an adult at twelve, but even adults are slow to learn their lessons sometimes. And I was afraid of you, you gave me reason to be. I should have been more afraid of you, in retrospect. But I knew then as I know now, you were never a bad man. You are a good man. You were just troubled. And a sixteen year old girl an ocean away was not the answer to anything. Except more pain. And I regret causing you that pain.
I heard the recordings of your live performance. You still brush the hair off your forehead exactly the same way. And you still smoke incessantly. Although I can’t look at you scoldingly for that anymore, given that I’ve started smoking too ( I know, right? Who would’ve thought?) And you smile more fully. And no matter what happened between us, it is so heartwarmingly, gloriously wonderful to see you smile that way.
One day, I will too.
I should be asleep
It’s half past three
But I’m standing in the cold, in
Filling my nightly emptiness
There’s some comfort in knowing
That the darkness is dotted
By city lights
Faces I don’t know
People I’ll never meet
But just as forlorn
They keep me company
I want you to know that I know. I know that you don’t believe.
I know that you don’t believe in love. Or, that you believe in love the way that you believe in God- something’s out there, you know that much, but you don’t know if you can confine it to a name, or a figure, or a person.
I know that you think ‘forever’ is a lie. It might be- but it’s not mine. When I gave you my word for a forever, for our forever, I was sure enough to stake every single breath I will be given on it. And I still am.
We are a forever. I want you to know, that I know that.
That there is a certainty in every time you cross my mind. I may have a million thoughts and a hundred things happening in my day, but I want you to know that when I turn to you, even in my head- there is no doubt.
We are immovable. Unbreakable. Indestructible.
I want you to know that.
I also know that we are to be divided, by time and space. And I know, that you hide your fear of being hurt behind caution, and a pretended lack of emotion. We will hurt by our division, you and I.
But we’ll still not be broken. I want you to know that.
I know that you won’t say things. I know you won’t show things. But I still see the love, feel the love, know the love- I know your love. I want you to know that I am not blind or mute, and I wish I had the restraint you do, but I have none. You know what you are to me. My words are always an ocean for you, and I crash, and I crash, and I crash on the shore, but I’m never any emptier than before. I will never be empty.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know that no matter how far we walk on, and where we choose to walk, the parts of us that walked together will always be walking together. Those parts of us are immovable, unbreakable indestructible, eternal.
Those parts of us are a forever. I want you to know that.
I want you. You know that as much as I do.
But know this, too-
I know you
I look over and I see you, on
The other side of the bed
You and your silver eyes,
Even though there is
Not a trace of light
Somehow, my love, you
Give me the moon madness
Every single night
Sleeping and waking, lost or aware, I
Keep falling for you,
deeper and deeper
Than I should
In my defense, though
Being completely insane
Felt this good