Monthly Archives: July 2019

You

Standard

How could you do this?  You’re not even real.  You don’t have a heartbeat.  You don’t have eyes or arms or a mouth.  You don’t have feelings.  You’re not real.  So how did this happen?  How did you break us?

And why?  Why did you push and pull?  Why did you whisper and lie?  Why did you dull your roar, and then strike again just as we were cleaning up the mess you had already left behind?  Why us?

But you know the truth of what I really think.  You know that I know you’re real.  I know you come to life.  I know the control and power you have – over me, and then over them.  You know that I know.  You know that I fear you.  You know how to get me to miss you, too.  You know how to settle in so that my senses come alive, and my mind produces so much that I can’t contain it.  And that’s how you keep me hooked.  That’s how you trick me into thinking you aren’t so bad sometimes.

Still, I fight you.  I fight to keep you away, but I lose a little part of myself in the process.  But you know this, too.  I think this is your game.  You can’t get inside my head, so you aim at another target – a weaker target.  Us.  You keep us apart.  You tear us down so that we can’t recover.  We can’t regain our strength.  And then you throw one thing after the other at us so we stay down.  Distracted, exhausted, angry, hurt, blind.  We can’t see each other.  He can’t see I’m drowning.  I can’t see he’s hurting.  We try to see.  We try to fix.  But it’s not enough.  It’s never enough.  His hurt is too painful for a bandaid.  My gasps are too desperate for a life vest.  He tries.  I try.  Not enough.

Is it too late?  Is your wedge too wide?  Can I ease his hurt without drowning?  Can he guide me to calmer waters without the hurt breaking him?  Is love enough?  You aren’t going away.  You are the third person in this relationship.  You are baggage.  You are trash.  But you are here, and we have no say.  We are so battle weary.  We are scarred.  Maybe you’re too powerful, and it was foolish for us to think we ever had a chance.  We win one battle, but you just bring another, and another, and…

Will the vicious cycle ever stop?  Will we ever be free from your grip?  Will you ever stop tormenting us?  You aren’t real.  You don’t have a heartbeat.  You don’t have feelings.

You aren’t real.