(Creative writing: 2016)
“If you’re sick of everyone falling for you, stop being so bloody perfect then,” she’d screamed at me, a sheer projection of inadequacy.
* * * * *
I know that feeling, I was young once, and I remember that insecurity. I also remember the effort it took to outgrow those feelings of “never being enough”, and while part of it was conscious effort to always improve every aspect that was within my control, the other part of it was simply to give it time…to give myself time.
I’d wanted to say that. I knew it was the right thing to say. But the right thing to say would’ve resulted in me having to explain myself, and then talk about my life story or how I came to that realization. It would be insulting, if anything, considering I’ve been writing about my journey for years. You don’t read it, then you ask me questions I’ve already answered countless times, in multiple ways.
Instead, you come at me with these projections and I’m shielded by my own experiences…ones I was never shy about, ones I’ve blasted expressively for years.
Calling me perfect, as if that’s not offensive. As if I’d had everything handed to me and never had to work a day in my life. As if…
Sure, you have the right to feel what you want to feel. You have to express whatever you want.
I also have the right to simply say “Ok, glad you got that out your system now. Was I supposed to do something about it?”
No, darling. I’m not.
It’s that same damn thing you do, every single time you want me to tell you how I feel, knowing that you’re not going to do anything about it. Well, I’m not either. And if the best action is inaction to let things fall into place, then so be it. But I’m not playing your games and I’m not running circles chasing typhoons.
And no, I’m not walking away. What from, anyway? A shadow? A fragment of a memory? An unfinished reality that was never made?
No, darling. Running is your thing, and fighting is mine.
It’s what we do. I’ve accepted that, over time. It’s taken long enough.
I still miss you, but I can’t hold onto what never existed, darling. Much as you wanted to exist, you chose not to, and I suppose that’s what hurts the most…is that at the end of the day, much as you wanted to choose me…you couldn’t. You chose…you…
That’s okay, though. I’ve learned to live without you; it’s you who has to live with you.
And for your sake, I sincerely hope you find yourself to be as enjoyable as I found you…If anything…I hope you find you.
I hope you let yourself be found.
I love you, always.