Somethings you cannot say


It’s not that I don’t believe you– I do.

I believe that you’re not well, that you genuinely can’t come, that you do wish you could… to an extent.

But it takes its toll, and it makes me feel that I’m lesser in your eyes. I’m not a priority.

 

It’s not that I don’t think you’re good people, friends I mean.

I think you’re swell, and I think you do enjoy my company as I do yours… but it’s not 50/50, is it?

It takes its toll, the things unsaid and unremembered. It makes me feel lesser, I’m not your priority, that you don’t really have concern for me.

 

It makes it hard for me to fully trust you the way I would like to. Trust you with my time, effort and affection. It makes me want to build a wall, to keep myself safe, treat you as a arms-length-friend at best.

 

And you? I just can’t.

still can’t. Perhaps I forever can’t.

I wish I could surrender, give up, quit you and just never see you again, in any context.

Rather than look at you now

and teether between HATING everything you are and LOVING everything you are
between not caring at all and caring too much.

I don’t want
to hear of the things you do
and not know whether to roll my eyes and ridicule them
or laugh and smile endearingly
or just to be completely ambivalent and unaffected.

When I don’t look directly at you
When I don’t make conversation
When I don’t ask about the things in your life
When I ignore, act flippant and even cold

Do you know? That it’s conscious, deliberate? That it’s not because I don’t know what to say, what to ask? That it’s not because I don’t care?

It’s just because I can’t. Just can’t, still can’t, forever can’t.

I had a thought the other day
that some scars are permanent.

Colours and Wind


What I don’t understand is where the ‘care’ went.

How is it that you can go from caring so much, to not caring at all?

What I don’t understand are the masks– back to the basics, like strangers. To speak to each other with polite, surface smiles and upbeat small talk, keeping each other at more than arms length, when once we shared all manner of heart to heart talks. It feels so pointless, fake and above all, really, really sad. Can’t I be myself with you any more?

To have taken all that time to figure out that maze, to slowly disassemble the walls and put down the masks. What a blessing it is to have that sort of familiarity, closeness, trust with another human being. What a curse to have that taken away.

What I don’t understand is– well, everything.

It doesn’t matter, I guess, what I understand or fail to understand. Life goes on.

When I dream of you, I awake with a sense of happiness and contentment. I dreamt last night that I wanted to take you out ‘flying’. Yes, I fly in my dreams. Flying dreams are the best sort of dreams ever.

We’ll keep dreaming of the sky. Colours and wind, colours and wind.

Changing Partners


I stay me. And you stay you.

The things I would do stay the same even if it’s someone else beside me.
Like spazzing out over furry plants and cactuses or pointing out eagles in the sky, I guess.

The things you would do stay the same even if it’s someone else beside you.
Like dressing up in yukatas and having lunch at sakae sushi, eating salmon and amaebi sushi.

It feels disconcerting– I used to do that with you, and now you’re doing it with someone else? But it’s inevitable, just the way it necessarily is. I shared myself with you, and now you’re gone, but I’m still here. I’m still me, and the things I share are still those things.

I’ve always wondered, for people who’ve had multiple bfs or gfs… what do you call them? Does the name stay the same? Isn’t strange though, if you called boyfriend A ‘baby’ and you call boyfriend B ‘baby’ as well?

And yet, how many terms of endearment can you cycle, huh? Besides, what if it’s a personal preference, it’s a term you like. You stay you. And the other person just changes and swops and cycles. The term you use is a part of who you are, and not an identity of the other.

I wonder if there are things that aren’t just you (with me tagging along) and aren’t just me (with you tagging along) but are us. Things unique to us. Things that can’t be cycled, can’t just swop in and out someone new. Things that we only did together, that we wouldn’t do with anyone else.

There must be, for surely a relationship is greater than the sum of its parts? For surely there is ‘you’, there is ‘me’, but there was also ‘us’?

I can’t remember, I”ve forgotten, I am forgetting.

When I look at our ‘things to do before we die!’ list, the items seem to fall neatly into the things you wanted to do, and the things I wanted to do. Of course, we’d thought we’d do them together, but you would still fly in a hot air balloon without me, and I am still set on climbing mountains and seeing the northern lights with or without you, or anyone else. Was there anything on the list that was truly something for us to do before we die?

We were waltzin’ together to a dreamy melody
When they called out “Change partners”
And you waltzed away from me
Now my arms feel so empty as I gaze around the floor
And I’ll keep on changing partners
Till I hold you once more