I pick up the phone to call you but remember I’m not supposed to. I read back a few messages for clues. And I don’t know if what you’re saying or what you’re not saying is telling me what I need to hear. I know, I know. You don’t care. You want nothing to come out of this. Not anymore. Actually, not ever.
It’s hard for me to understand that I’ve finally met someone colder than I. Maybe more heartless. It’s taken me a few days to realize that your form of coping was in transposing all emotions onto me. What you *failed* to realize is that I am not suggestible. You excuse your emotionlessness by placing the weight of every emotion you’re supposed to feel, on me. As if me feeling the emotions for the both of us is supposed to excuse you from responsibility for everything.
I know all this. I feel all this. I understand all this.
Still, I pick up the phone to call you but remember I’m not supposed to.
I don’t know what to do or how to react. I want to care about you, in any way you’ll let me (but I know you won’t). Just as a friend. I can’t stand the thought of losing (you). Everything in my head is telling me I should separate myself from you – nothing you did merits my care. Absolutely nothing. It’s ruthless and it’s cold and it’s true. Yet, I can’t help but to want to get closer because the thought of a growing separation is too much to bear.
“I talk to you on the phone for an hour then remember you’re [gone].”
– from Some Futuristic Afternoons, C Dylan Bassett
I feel a little revolted with myself.
A little honesty would help here. And yet I cannot bring myself to say the words at the back of my mind. It’s because I always write so cautiously. My words hold a lot of weight because I know I only say what I mean. And I don’t know if it’s my confusion, my anger, my frustration, my loss of control – that’s compelling me say some words I’m not sure I mean. Or if what I’m feeling is spot on and I’m justified in my anger/frustration/etc. etc. Anger is just not an emotion I want to have, ever. And so I stop myself in saying the words.
I’ll start off with something I’m more comfortable in saying. Will I never find someone as interesting to me as MT? Most people are so easy to read, so … predictable, comically. Not once did MT ever say anything I could possibly have predicted. And because of that I can’t even create some figment of him in my mind. Nothing I could conceive would be his natural reaction or close in words to what he would say in any given situation. Not that I would allow an imagination of him to live on anyway. I’ve since let go, come to the realization he and I will never again be friends. It took a very long six years to figure this out. I have letting go issues, ok?
The only one that lost out is me. I could not bring anything to the table in *that* friendship. He feels no loss, in fact feels nothing at all. It’s like I never existed. But there lies no cruelty behind it. And that’s what makes it so hard… I can’t feel any anger or resentment towards him. All I’m left with is my unfaltering memory of how much I loved him/could have loved him. There’s a difference between the two right?
Just because something is a potential outcome doesn’t make it any less true right?
Anyway, I’ve exhausted the topic. I begin to feel sort of stupid thinking about MT. My brain can’t seem to pretend he never existed and yet – he existed for such a small sliver of time that it no longer seems real. Many times I wonder why he casually slips into my mind. Mid-conversation I’ll start to think about him, wish he were here, wonder just how any given situation would be different with him. But it’s so silly… because I don’t even have a clue and am unable to conceive of how anything would turn out differently. It’s all POTENTIAL. And even then… the potential is NULL. The potential does not exist.
And now that all these words are written I’ve grown bored with the topic. It’s stale. Nothing will ever change. Nothing will come of it. This situation, this memory is starting to feel like a disappearing memory. I don’t want to go down this road again.
There’s no sense in dwelling.
And the whole reason I started this entry… will go in another entry. I’m so avoidant.