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.
I 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.