And Death Listened
I know that I'm not wise.
I know that I don't know a lot.
I know that I still have a lot to learn.
Just like I knew that I didn't have the maturity of an 18 year old woman, but only because I thought I didn't choose it. But now, the more and more I think about it; the more and more I realize all the tragedies, love, and happiness I've been through don't seem to match up anymore.
They don't seem to make sense. I don't seem to make sense anymore.
I'm so numb and confused. So depressed and hopeless.
But, then another part of me is hopeful. Another part believes in fate, believes that things will get better.
And so many others have helped along the way. Love, trying to be the root of everything, the giver of life like the Sun is. It's crazy.
Because I remembered when I felt neutral about love. I remembered when I was immersed in love. I remembered when I didn't want love. And I remembered falling in love with him.
And with her.
I remember feeling tiny and unimportant with him. Like I didn't matter anymore, that because we were born cinco años apart, that it should destroy the entire relationship.
The years made it seem like we didn't belong, even though we loved each other, even though he believed in me, and it was so easy to love him just because he was himself. How easy it was - to love his laugh and his smile, how he said what he wanted to without a filter, and how even though I hated myself to the extent of sometimes wishing I could just die,
He loved me anyway. Believed that I was beautiful. And funny, and everything he wanted and needed.
And even though I loved him so much, and he loved me more than I could even begin to fathom (because why would someone love me? Crazy, misunderstood, weird, loner, me?), thinking that my craziness was just being quirky and unique, thinking that my weirdness was just creativity spewing from me, I could help but think.
I couldn't help but think that some time, in the future; we would no longer be together. Something would have to screw it up. Something would have to take everything we'd built together and make it seem like nothing.
I used to think it would be an outside source, some sort of person or because of some infidelity one of us committed. But it wasn't. It was our own, manufactured demise.
Because even though you can love someone with all your heart, there's still pain. Pain that didn't go away with the last person you loved as much and intensely as you could. And it was painful, so painful, watching him crumble into himself and turning into someone else that I didn't recognize. So hard to convince myself to let him go, to figure it out on his own just because he was too afraid of upsetting myself to do anything different.
And I did, I let him go on his own, to let him realize that he wasn't over the first person he loved. Because they had something more than we did - they had hope. There wasn't a cynic in their relationship like I was in my own; and even though it hurt more than I could have imagined, I knew it was the right thing to do. I know that the only thing I had ever wanted him to be when he was depressed was to be happy, and letting him go was the key to letting him be happy; even though I felt I was even more of the shell of a person I used to be.
I don't know how I got over him…then again, I'm lying. I didn't. I'm still not. And I won't be. Because he was the one person that could help me, and I was used to him being the rock I could rely on. But I couldn't see past my own insecurities and was blinded by the mast amount of love that I had for him that I threw away. I didn't deserve him. And I don't blame him. Not for anything.
And then, I remember loving her.
She was everything I could ask for, the female version of the boy-turned-man I loved. She was beautiful and rare, and she thought the same of me. I could never agree with her on that fact, but since she was so much like me, she was stubborn, too. She understood me. She was skeptical of love. But she loved me anyway.
She was rough and jagged around the edges, but that didn't mean anything to me. It didn't mean to her of how fucked up I was, either. And that was okay. It was okay because all the insecurities we had about each other were the things we loved.
I didn't love her for as long as I loved him. But I loved her just as much.
But love has a way of taking things you need right when you need them the most. Like when the one person you love, once again, falls slave to something. He was still chained to the person he would always love the most, but she was bound to something just as addicting as love - drugs.
I couldn't help her. We'd had our fair share of being druggies in love. But I had given that up a long time ago, admittedly because he didn't want me to. He didn't want me to rot like she ended up doing in the end.
When she left, it was like getting stab in a wound that was so close to healing, but hadn't completely. For once, I didn't feel numb, it set in immediately. I was falling to the ground, tears spraying out of my eyes; dread tearing it claws through my heart and leeching on once again; something that I had once been so accustomed to, but love had blinded me so bad that I couldn't believe it.
I don't want to beg for pity, I don't want love to chance upon me once again like I asked for it.
I just want to be done. Done with the pain that I've endured so long. I want clarity. I want happiness, the kind that's so hard to obtain.
So I ask of you, Death, I ask, what's it all for? Why does life matter? Why does love have to blind us and fool us into thinking it'll last? And even though we were blinded, then why for once can't it last? Why can't it be eternal?
I hope someone listens. I hope someone has answers. I hope I understand from a few years from now what this was all for. Because even though I'm numb now, and even though I think I'm over them, the wound opens right back up, and I find myself missing the both of them like crazy.
But I know how selfish it would be for me to take them away from happiness, just to have my own while the both of them are miserable.
I guess I do want love. Real, true love. But I'm ready to wait. I just don't want the hurt anymore. I don't want the wound to keep growing bigger and bigger.
I just want a needle and thread to heal me for once and for all.