My deepest, most intimate thoughts. My darkest deeds. Some things should be kept to one's self, I guess. I wanted to open up fully, but it seemed the more I did, the more she seemed to have backed away. What can I take away from that? That I was interesting, worth caring about, until it got to the deepest layers and showed the monstrosity of my being?
This morning, we were answering little quizzes. My answers, though truthful, were a little dark. Not "Gothic", "I'm so evil" dark, but just melancholic. Much of it stem from my very first entry, here, in this blog. There was a change in her behavior each time I answered a question that way. I figured. I really did. She didn't feel comfortable about the first entry, either. I don't know why I insisted on answering questions that would only bring that up.
So I stopped answering questions.
---
[Sighs.] I don't know, anymore. I thought I knew what I had to do, but maybe I was wrong. I thought opening up was a good idea, but maybe it wasn't. I wanted her to know what it was at my very core, but maybe I shouldn't have. Now I'm at the edge of my wits, looking down at a thousand-foot drop if I took one more step. Do I jump - do I kill this part of myself and re-awaken the "monster" everyone knew me to be? Or do I stay at the top of the bluff, having no place to go but backwards?
I love her, you know. I really do. And I wish she'd leave that... other guy... to be with me. [Sighs again.] Yes, it's selfish. Yes, it's arrogant. But I do think I'm much better. No. The best for her, than he ever could be. If only he knew how lucky he was.
I love her, you know. I really do. And I wish she'd leave that... other guy... to be with me. [Sighs again.] Yes, it's selfish. Yes, it's arrogant. But I do think I'm much better. No. The best for her, than he ever could be. If only he knew how lucky he was.
---
I had a dream many nights ago.
I dreamed I met this person. It wasn't by chance; I went searching for him. I found him late one evening, and he was with another woman. They were close. Really close. It made my blood boil. So I followed them until, after it all ended, he was finally alone. I had people with me and I told them to grab him. They did.
Next thing I remember, we were in a dark room, and I was telling him about what he was doing to her. I emphasize that verb: Tell. I never asked him any questions. He never would have been able to answer, anyway. His mouth was taped shut. I told him how he didn't deserve her, and she didn't deserve to be treated the way he had been treating her.
I walked in circles around him as he was tied to a chair. I went on a long exposition about how terrible he had been for her. I felt myself going back and forth between utter rage, and complete sadness. I hated the man in front of me. And I ended the whole tirade with an order. I can still somewhat vaguely remember it.
"You will call her, and you will tell her that you're through. You will apologize for what you have done, but you will admit that you do not love her. You will never see her again after that. And you will do this because you know how easy it is for me to find you. And should I ever hear about you breaking disobeying these orders, you will find me again. You will be brought here. Again. But you will not leave here alive."
Something along those lines.
We knocked him out and tossed him on the sidewalk next to his car. It wasn't long before I heard he had followed my demands. I heard from her. She told me that he had left her. How, while she felt a little bit free, she felt crushed inside. And I listened to her, feeling guilty for what she's feeling now. I didn't do it, after all, so I could act like her hero. I didn't tell her what I did. Not then.
I don't think she would have forgiven me. Instead, I listened to her and I held her close. I said I'd always be there for her. And after all that was done. After I had taken her home. I went to my car and wrote her a letter. In it, I confessed everything, and I apologized. I said I didn't expect her to ever forgive me, and that she would probably never see me again - when just moments earlier I said I'd always be there.
I put the letter in an envelope addressed it to her. I walked to her mailbox and dropped it off. I walked back to my car. As I approached the driver-side door, I saw my reflection in the mirror. In it, I saw the man I had driven away from her some night before. I had become the very thing I tried to save her from.
I dreamed I met this person. It wasn't by chance; I went searching for him. I found him late one evening, and he was with another woman. They were close. Really close. It made my blood boil. So I followed them until, after it all ended, he was finally alone. I had people with me and I told them to grab him. They did.
Next thing I remember, we were in a dark room, and I was telling him about what he was doing to her. I emphasize that verb: Tell. I never asked him any questions. He never would have been able to answer, anyway. His mouth was taped shut. I told him how he didn't deserve her, and she didn't deserve to be treated the way he had been treating her.
I walked in circles around him as he was tied to a chair. I went on a long exposition about how terrible he had been for her. I felt myself going back and forth between utter rage, and complete sadness. I hated the man in front of me. And I ended the whole tirade with an order. I can still somewhat vaguely remember it.
"You will call her, and you will tell her that you're through. You will apologize for what you have done, but you will admit that you do not love her. You will never see her again after that. And you will do this because you know how easy it is for me to find you. And should I ever hear about you breaking disobeying these orders, you will find me again. You will be brought here. Again. But you will not leave here alive."
Something along those lines.
We knocked him out and tossed him on the sidewalk next to his car. It wasn't long before I heard he had followed my demands. I heard from her. She told me that he had left her. How, while she felt a little bit free, she felt crushed inside. And I listened to her, feeling guilty for what she's feeling now. I didn't do it, after all, so I could act like her hero. I didn't tell her what I did. Not then.
I don't think she would have forgiven me. Instead, I listened to her and I held her close. I said I'd always be there for her. And after all that was done. After I had taken her home. I went to my car and wrote her a letter. In it, I confessed everything, and I apologized. I said I didn't expect her to ever forgive me, and that she would probably never see me again - when just moments earlier I said I'd always be there.
I put the letter in an envelope addressed it to her. I walked to her mailbox and dropped it off. I walked back to my car. As I approached the driver-side door, I saw my reflection in the mirror. In it, I saw the man I had driven away from her some night before. I had become the very thing I tried to save her from.
---
I learned a lesson from that. I can't take such things in my own hands. Even if we're not to take it literally, I was doing something I didn't have the right to do. And, in the process, she lost both of us.
So, now what? What is on my mind?
I don't know. I think I should leave. I think I should have left. Throw away my emotions and just go. It's no longer my place. I'll never stop loving her, but I'll just have to keep loving her without her knowing. Maybe that decision had already been made for me. Maybe she's already left.
Why?
Because I opened up.
I was wrong. I was never going to be better for her. There's nothing I could offer. Only all of my love. Only all of me.
Sometimes... that's just not enough.
Should I just leave? I haven't decided.
So if you, my only reader, are still watching, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made it all so complicated. But I wish you'd have made your choice sooner. Even now you're prolonging your pain. I wish you had acted. I wish you had left him, or left me. The point was no longer about whom you chose; it was about you just making a decision.
So, now what? What is on my mind?
I don't know. I think I should leave. I think I should have left. Throw away my emotions and just go. It's no longer my place. I'll never stop loving her, but I'll just have to keep loving her without her knowing. Maybe that decision had already been made for me. Maybe she's already left.
Why?
Because I opened up.
I was wrong. I was never going to be better for her. There's nothing I could offer. Only all of my love. Only all of me.
Sometimes... that's just not enough.
Should I just leave? I haven't decided.
So if you, my only reader, are still watching, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I made it all so complicated. But I wish you'd have made your choice sooner. Even now you're prolonging your pain. I wish you had acted. I wish you had left him, or left me. The point was no longer about whom you chose; it was about you just making a decision.
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