Words that mean nothing anymore, yet still I write. Just another disease. Just another virus that infects. That is what I offer.
She asked me to stay the night, I declined. Too much to do, far too much, as always, to think about – but tonight it is different. I question everything about me, yet again. Everything begins with Why…? and is followed by emptiness.
Don’t be someone that I care for. Don’t be someone I might love. I will hurt you, I will make you go away, asking the same questions. You’re safe if I don’t care enough, if it’s only that last bit of forbidden intimacy that separates the flesh from the flesh – but by then it is so much more than that, isn’t it? So much more than flesh.
Looking up at me she said I was her ideal, looking into her eyes I kept all of my silence, everything inside screaming in agreement. I thought there would be time to tell her someday. Time has never been my friend.
Words that mean nothing anymore, yet still, I write. Words that talk of one and no one. They cry when I leave and I don’t understand it. One of us will always leave, don’t be fooled into believing in happily ever after, friend or lover. We take what we have been given, what we were given should make us smile in parting. Memories, laughter, tears, shared or not – bones of the past that rattle in our hearts. We listen to their music when it is quiet and dance to it as we collect more. As we give more. Here, take my bones, the ones I have created for you. They’re all different, and sometimes the music may not be so sweet – but still, as much as you may try, you can’t refuse them. When it is quiet you can hear them. When it rains, they sing. Dance in the memories. Smile warmly or hate me.
One of us will always leave, and I may let you think it’s your idea. It’s easier that way, for both of us.
That way I won’t have to see you cry.