Thoughts
Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. Sitting on the sidelines,
holding everything swirling around in me back, building wall upon wall
around my true heart, trying to lock it away, all so that I can give
her, to the best of my ability, what she deserves. Someone who loves
her, who can protect her and her precious heart, who can help her to
shine more brightly then she already does, who can give her a life. A
marriage, a family, a reason to live.
My treacherous heart is torn in two; I love her! I can protect
her! I can help her shine more brightly! But when it comes to the
last, I stop. Everything simply grows cold and I force a smile, just
from habit, as I feel the familiar despair and reason wash over me. I
can’t give her a life. Not a marriage, not a family. And how, how
could I possibly give her a reason to live, when I couldn’t do those
simple things?
And so I cry tears that aren’t tears. They don’t exist, they
don’t cause me to cry out in grief; because they don’t exist in the
world where you can see and feel them. They only exist within me, as I
cry my way through eternity. But why do I do such a thing?
A simple answer, I suppose. I do it for her. For her happiness.
For her heart. It’s the only path I can see. It’s the only path there
is. I would do anything for her; but that leaves me trapped, in a
prison I helped to make.
I can’t leave. That would only hurt her. I can’t. I can’t stay;
that only causes me to die further inside of myself, pulling back,
only barely remembering to wear my smiling mask. But I have to stay. I
can’t hurt her. If I would truly do anything for her, then surely I
can do so simple a thing as be there through all the pain. No matter
what. Even if I eventually kill my own heart in the effort of trying
to stay, to not hurt the heart I treasure above all others.
But I’m starting to wonder if that isn’t true. I’m beginning to
be unable to feel anything but the emotions I have for her, and the
emotions that I stand for her. Despair, loneliness, hope, love, and
endless longing, those too many to name, and worst of all reason. Is
reason even an emotion? Whatever it is, it is by far the worst thing
to have.
Or the best.
Without reason, wouldn’t I have ruined the life I’m so carefully
trying to build for her? Wouldn’t I have lost any chance of her
happiness? Wouldn’t she hate me?
Most people would hate me, I’m sure. For something I can’t help,
something I never asked for, never meant to fall into…and I could do
nothing about it. As long as I wear my masks at least I can be near
her.
I wish it would stop. The confusion, all of it. Every emotion
that swirls through me, the life I don’t want to live that I do want
to live. It would be easy to stop it all. But I can’t. My prison seems
to grow into something I can’t escape more and more as my desire to
escape it grows. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I wish…
The last word I hear echoing through my mind, as everything
quiets, letting me rest, is ‘why’. Why? Why? Why…
Why does anything happen? I don’t really know. I don’t know
anything at all, in a way. Does anyone know everything? If someone
does, could they come and explain to me once more why? Can they
explain that stupid, silly word that always ends my battles within
this prison?
Can they explain why?
I don’t want this. I don’t want to be forever wandering though
this dark place. I don’t want any of it. I don’t…
But I do.
I want the small, treasured moments where I have the light she
gives me. The light that eases the pain away, that forces the darkness
and the prison back. Sometimes the light makes me want to break my
masks. Sometimes it helps me to fix them, and reminds me why I do any
of this at all. But mostly the light leaves me with the smallest,
weakest hope. The most hope I can manage. The hope that
someday…someday…
I don’t really know.
The hope that she’ll save me, I guess. That’s silly, I know…you
have to save yourself. No one saves you. No one can, when you’re so
close to invisible as I am. But how am I to save myself when it takes
all my strength to keep alive? It takes all of me to show that smile I
have to give, to make them all think I’m okay. I’m always okay. I have
to be. If I show that I’m not, I could break it all…she can’t worry
about me. I can’t have that.
I can’t really think anymore. I’m broken, I think. Broken. I
don’t think I can be fixed by anything but the one thing I can’t have.
Absurd, isn’t it? That I can’t find the strength to save myself, but I
can find it in me to save others from all that I feel? That I can only
mask everything that goes through my mind? That I can’t ever really
show all of myself, let the masks drop, let anyone, least of all her,
stare straight into my eyes and see in one glimpse everything that I
have to hide?
All I can think right now it nothing, really. It’s simply an
empty void. I’m running out of emotions and thoughts. All but those
that I seem to be cursed with for the rest of my life. I must have an
endless supply of those; that or she hands them all to me, without
noticing. You’d think she’d notice. How can she simply pull something
out without realizing it?
But that’s one of the things I like about her. She’s too
innocent to understand the workings of the heart, or of emotions
themselves. She just needs a few pushes in the right direction
sometimes.
But how can I know the right direction?
I think she’s fallen for him, though. It’s not that hard to see.
If only they would move far, far away, so that it could all end. So
that I could make my disappearing act with her none the wiser. But no;
she can’t leave her home. Her friends, her family. Me. And I haven’t
the slightest idea why.
No matter what I say I still can’t convince her that it’s for
the best.
And so I sit here on a swing in the park, arguing with myself,
unconsciously smiling out of habit. Smiling when I feel like crying.
For once it would be nice to cry. But I wonder if I can cry. I used to
cry myself to sleep, a long time ago. I don’t think I have any of the
tears that people would refer to as real left. I think I’m too far
gone for that. To let it all go and simply cry. To sob. To wail. To
bemoan your fate.
Perhaps I’m slightly insane to think that wonderful, but surely
it is better then this battle I hold within myself. I want them out.
All the painful emotions. But not the love or the hope. The love is
something that wouldn’t go away if I wanted it to. And the hope at
least gives me something to grasp. A rope thrown down into the hole
I’ve dug myself, beckoning for me to try to climb it, a little. A rope
that taunts with the thought that someone might descend to help me up,
or pull the rope back up with me attached.
I know that the thought I keep trying to obliterate has to do
with that hope. The hope that it will be her who saves me; the hope
that I will be saved at all. Why would she save me?
She doesn’t even know that I need to be saved.
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