I'm sure you know, but I'm not quite sure if you understand. Since I met you two and a half years ago, I have loved no one else. And there may have been a point when I was willing to pick myself up from the insane drudgery I have gotten myself into, but ever since you made it clear that there will be nothing else between us except friendship, all color from this sick, twisted world has drained away and I was left with nothing but a mechanical, metallic aftertaste of what the rest of my life would be.
I suppose I should be grateful for this chance I have been accorded; at least somehow you're still part of my life. I am grateful that you would want to be friends with me. Why should anyone ever refuse an offer of friendship? Of course, it's the selfsame thing that's been rotting away at my insides, but still. In principle, it shouldn't be refused. In the same vein, however, my friends are telling me how selfish you revealed yourself to be, knowing how I feel for you, yet still allowing yourself to draw strength from me even if the only thing I can draw from you is the cold, stale air of a dead-end relationship. And this is where the barbed stem of irony kicks in -- I give whatever it is you need, without expecting anything in return, because it is you who need it. Hilarious.
Another thing. I know that you mean well, pushing me to go back to school to pursue art once again, but what I can't tell you is that I've gone past all of that. Apart from not knowing what it is I really want to do, I have no desire to even find out anymore. Everything I do, I do just to pass the time. I'm not sure if you can understand how lonely that is.
I made a decision two years ago, and it is something I hold on to until now:
A Decision One Makes
Friday, October 6, 2006
All week, I've been thinking if love is a decision one makes, or if one finds oneself in it without knowing? Is there a moment when one stops and breathes, "I am in love?" Or is one already in love, and simply decides whether to continue swimming in that pool of emotion or walk away? Because a week ago I made a decision, and it felt like a seal on me, a firebrand. And on my tongue I could have sworn it tasted a little like dying, when "your life flashes before your eyes." Which it did, my life. Or what's left of it, I suppose.
Margaret Atwood was right. If we knew in advance the consequences of our decisions, we would be doomed and ruined. The irony is that there is triumph in ignorance, and there is tragedy in wisdom. And that tragedy, that hopelessness is maybe what gave me the courage, the stupidity to admit such a truth to myself. I figured I didn't have enough of a life left to lose, so I threw all caution to the wind and gave in. After all, I have always said that I prefer a love like forest fires, like runaway trains. Let me tell you, it doesn't get any more devastating than this. "The more tragic, the better," the song says. Well I'm raising my red flag, and zeroing in for the kill.
This is my decision and my word, whether you accept it or not, whether it sustains me or kills me. You are loved -- by me, by my entire being, and by a force within me so great and terrible I can't even name it. You will never be alone, and you don't ever need to be afraid. I will protect you. And my name, and the rest of my stupid, sad, sorry little life I give you, for all it's worth.
I ask nothing in return. Not your love, for it is yours to give to whomever you choose. Not understanding, when nobody else would -- or rather, is able to. Just maybe... an acceptance. An acknowledgment. A thank you, or a nod my way. Letting me know that you see me, and that you are glad to be living your life happily. If I believe in nothing else, then please let me believe in that.
