Smelling Faintly Of Mildew
This has been rotting on my desktop. I thought it wasn't finished, but I reread it and it's just as true now as when I put it down. I may lack the fire and intensity to actually write stuff like this anymore, but it doesn't make it less true. My growing inability to communicate on this topic isn't representative of the problem fixing itself, but instead of my body's frank insistence that I must not dwell on this situation.
I've been saying I've been ok, and I can't help but wonder if that's because I've gotten better or that I've redefined what level is acceptable living.
Bow gracefully to the inevitable things you cannot change.
So, I keep thinking its going to get easier, that it's going to hurt less. But it doesn't. You live in a haphazard world of disaster and then joy, thunderstorms and then rainbows. I do not.
I travel deeper and deeper into understanding, both into myself and the rest of the world, and each step further I come that much closer to breaking. That's what happens to most people, they hit a point and then just... snap. They learn bits about the world and how it functions and can't handle the information. Instead of learning, they cocoon themselves in a wrap of bitterness and stay there, content.
I used to criticise them, look at how far they travelled and scoff. They hardly made any distance at all and they already broke, even the short amount they managed was for naught. I was safe in my understanding, moving ever onwards.
Then I met you, and learned through the situation that love is what drives me, that actually matters to me. I am no hypocrite, so I have ensured that, in the very least, that my life is justified. That my existance comes at no great sacrifice to any other thing, be it animal, human, or the planet itself. I can live reasonably and attempt to make the system we live in more just, equitable, or in the very least less abusive. But that's not what feeds me, not what gets me up in the morning. Just a requirement for living in our society. Ultimately, self-serving, at least in a species sense, if not directly to the individual.
And now, aware of that which matters most, I see it and cannot have it. Not only that, but I can't see myself wanting anything else. Which terrifies me. Maybe with time we'll be together, or maybe with time I'll be able to not spend all my time thinking about you. But more than anything, I'm tired of being constantly in pain. I wrap myself in stress, or others, or the lie that is me and you. But underneath is pain, and it worsens all the time.
I think I may need to be alone. But that's not true, I need you. And that, my dear, sucks.