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30 November 2014 @ 12:21 am
pinecest kills me so bad  
 You're the idiot who gets into a happy relationship and experiences career success but still proudly tells stories about his ex's cats. You haven't seen those cats in seven years. You're fucking terrible for making me the villain in your narrative when you still clearly love me enough to tell stories about my cats. I wish it were easier for me to negotiate the line between how important you always will be to me, and how wounded I feel between the distance you demanded between us. I lost family in the break up; I lost you. The only person I could ever feel that way for. And maybe I was a coward for not showing more directly what I was thinking, feeling. And letting you fill in the blanks in ways that hurt me so much.  It hurts that I'll never feel that way for anyone else again, and even when I had you, you were too afraid to validate that part of me, or even understand it. 

I've gotten far enough that I rather wish you were more like him, than he would be you. I recognize what he does right, and you didn't. Even though there are similarities in how you've both handled me. It just hurts to know that I'll have this forever, unsatisfiable ache, and the only person who could have fulfilled it wouldn't, couldn't; rejected it, even. 

I wonder how much of this I'll ever be able to say to you. As time goes on, I feel the opportunity slip away. And I know I could never do any of it, except to your face, so you could feel what it all means to me. So you could hold me, crying in your arms about the brother I lost; and maybe you'd feel something like that again. I don't think you want to. I don't know if you're willing. I meant everything I said back then, and if I don't get to come to your wedding I'm going to be mortally wounded. I will always love you so much. 

 You know, none of mine would ever disdain you for how you hurt me. And you did. I don't hold it against you, I don't punish you for it. You're not the villain in my story, you know? If they met you, I think, at best they would have gotten what they expected (I am good at portraying people) and at worst they would be underwhelmed by this person I have put so many words to, this person I have rested so much of my heart into. But, we are different. That is why it didn't work out; I don't need someone to be a villain or a hero, even though when we started, I thought you were the latter. 

I know you want to see me. You probably can't articulate why, to be honest. Because you know what's coming. You know I won't behave to your face. I'll behave online because you can cut me off there, but in your bedroom, in your city, you know there's no escape and that you'll have to feel something at my words. I know you want to show me your new life; I will be happy for you, appreciative. But I will still want to show you my old wounds, you know that. What will you do, then, at that moment we're together? When the tears stream out of my eyes and I am leaning towards you, wanting your arms? 

Why are you the kind of idiot who still proudly tells stories about my cats and wants to see me, knowing what I'll do and say? Why does that still please me?

This entry was originally posted at http://skellaxinscruples.dreamwidth.org/5835.html