These memories are fading away. And each time I recall one it rushes through me, sometimes causing a laugh sometimes a sad wanting feeling that is the illness of remorse.
It’s the little things I’d forgotten- they’d been shrouded by the huge parts that nearly swallowed me without chewing. The little parts like when he’d tapped me on the shoulder and smiled when I turned around. Or the way he’d said That’s ok, I appreciate that you wanted to make sure I was ok. That had been after a drunken facebook night where I’d basically begged him to tell me his problems and he’d repeated Idk, Idk, Idk. The happiness floods through me as I remember this small memory; I treasure it and hide it so it can’t be lost again. A small guilt twinges at me. Its not guilt for allowing myself to think about him, no my emotions have never been as direct as that. It’s guilt for not feeling guilty for thinking about him. Surely happy memories can do no harm? No hram, no foul. As he’d say. The typo still makes me laugh. Why does every word and every song have to somehow relate back to him? How am I really supposed to think he is nothing? You can’t just let go of a strong part of you and not expect to feel like something’s missing. Still, there’s a driving force that’s telling me YOU MUST GET OVER THIS. And I am, sure I’m taking my time, but time is what will heal this after all.
So I get it and I apologise for completely leaving you, the dedicated and faithful to the end reader, clueless. There are reasons why I must get over him, you have seen that his presence turns me into panicked tremors and his memory haunts every one of mine. The thrill I get from seeing him in the distance, I can no longer tell if it’s a good type of thrill-fear or excitement? Besides, it’s probably just habitual- an empty shell of the excitement that I used to feel when I saw him, it only becomes extinguished and left to fizzle out when I realise he’s never going to talk to me again. Ever.
I’m no alcoholic I promise. But I’m going to talk once again from a time of being intoxicated. Where I went to a party and you weren’t there and I came home, and wrote! Of all things, my noisy mind cannot contain its creativity for long before it spills out simultaneously with the tears. I realised at the party that the friends I’d made in pursuit for you became my own friends. And that connection to you, no matter how indirect, is still a constant reminder of your existence. In this case, it was a constant reminder of your absence. I sulked and ranted in my little writing piece:
“I miss being able to smile at you when you walked past- or did that never happen? I miss touching your arm and saying hello I miss the drunken hugs so much. I miss the smile, when you were pale as sheet and you innocently smiled not knowing where it would lead you. I miss trying to impress you, I have no-one to impress anymore. I miss feeling like you cared…. :’(. I miss your funny comments that made my night and I miss the awkward conversations that made my day.”
If you haven’t got the picture, I might perhaps kind-ofish still miss him. But I miss the old him not the new. It might sound paradoxical when I say it but people don’t change. However your perception of them does.
I don’t want to hurt you
You hurt me. How can you have said that? Did you really say it at all? Perhaps my twisted mind has finally succumbed to insanity. Am I making it all up?
You are a great person to talk to and I don’t want to lose you as a friend
You didn't lose me as a friend, you through me away so you'd never find me again. You left me alone in the desert only to become disorientated and lost. I’m not yet dehydrated enough to believe it but it all could have just been a mirage, everything, the happiness you brought. It could have been a cruel illusion from the start. Or it could have been a change; a transcending friendship that soon became corrupted enough to end.
My emotions are in turmoil. I’m laughing manically one second, crying in the corner the next. My mood changes faster than the weather ever could, the breeze changes for no apparent reason. It drifts about aimlessly, starting a storm and then basking in the sun. Will I ever really see you at all? These glimpses feel like I am the only one present in them. Was I the only one ever present? Was it all just a one-way train station, me pushing on to happy friendship and you leading me up a false track? Did you ever mean what you said? Where are we? Where am I? I’m throwing out questions like a child would stones into a lake, angrily and with no purpose. I don’t even get the little ripple of response; the stone sinks into the depths without a whisper. I still can’t come to grips with how I could have given so much and got nothing in return. I could pour the whole strength of my arm into the throw but it made no difference. Everyone talks to me, except you, it leaves me feeling ignored. I’m under water in the melancholy of its silence. I swim to reason but my vision’s blurry. I’m not quite there yet but I know when I arrive, you will have already left.
Excluded and ignored. I’d forced my way into your circle. Without invitation I’d tried to push past their firm arms, tried to make a little room for myself in the circle. I’d caught the door with my ankle, slipped in and forced my presence upon you. It is for this that the remorse breeds. If remorse is an illness, than what is the cure?
The little holes between us, I hope they let through tiny rays of light.
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