Benjamin Button Broke my Heart
It happened again. I’m not even talking about the fact that he lied to me - again, after repeatedly asking him to tell me the truth.
No; I’m talking about a much darker, scarier thing - I lost me.
Momentarily, but just enough to let me realize I am still prisoner of my emotions. I am the puppet and they pull the strings.
The first time was bleak. I let myself go entirely. Screw life, family, friends, work, school - I only wanted to dream. My dreams are always so enticing. I’m not sure if it’s the same for everybody else - odds are it is, but what the hell do I know?
You lied to me. Again.
It’s so bizarre to think our relationship started with a painfully long unrequested truth. The first message you sent me was a long-winded explanation of your disappearance after one very brief and casual interaction. At the time I told you that it was all right. “You don’t owe me anything.” Yet you insisted you wanted to let me know, you wanted to explain yourself - even when I really didn’t care to hear about it.
Today, after sharing a bed - a home, however brief that’s what it was for me - today all you can muster are half-truths, empty assurances and shallow vows. Today, when we’re supposed to share this rare, special bond - and after experiencing all its potential in the most pure and raw manner possible - today is when you decide to obscure it, not even dim it but outright destroy whatever light was left.
How Benjamin-fucking-Button of you.
I am angry, you know this. I’m hurt, it’s evident. But I am getting over it and shall be fine over time. Whatever I think I miss - or will miss - from time to time was only a mirage. I know that now. It was never really there.
Yesterday, after a self-induced musical hypnosis, I felt normal. I felt like me again. Free from the shackles of your - our - prison. But time is a funny thing, and I’ve never quite had a good relationship with it.
I am fine. I’m still me. I wasn’t for a week or so, but I am now.
I already knew that one of my superpowers is to know when someone isn’t telling me the whole truth -- that’s why I am good at what I do -- but I just fucking realized I have a major weakness that cancels it out.
It’s not you, but man, that would have been poetic. (In a very pathetic, cliché kind of way.)
Instead my kryptonite, if I may, is also one of the traits I’m most proud of. I see the light in people, always past their darkness. I can go into that forsaken cave and come out whole, reminiscing about someone’s brilliance.
It has helped me in the past to breathe hope into much needed souls. We all need reminding there's good in us. Especially when there's so much suffering in your past.
I wanted to believe you so bad - so fucking bad.
I searched your eyes and they told me what I already knew: you were not being truthful. For the life of me I let it go, because I wanted us to work. I wanted to believe in you and not be right. I fucking hate being right (and fuck off if you think I’m showing off.)
I wanted to be wrong about you and right about us. I even told you, “I know you’re not telling me the whole truth. What are you hiding? Why are you hiding it?”
In hindsight, I think you’re not just lying to me but also to yourself. I don’t know what I was to you. You always did have a thing for Mexico. Maybe I was just the exotic thing you wanted to try and you deluded us both into thinking it was more than that -- fuckloads more.
I write this for myself even though I know you’re going to read it. I write this because I need to.
Letting you go - letting US go - is as metaphorical as it is lyrical and literal, at least for me.
This is also the first time, as long as I can recall, that I’ve felt the need to erase everything and anything I’ve shared with someone. Not once ever before - not even with my [true] first love (I wrote true, am I trying to tell me something?) I wanted to purge your existence from my life. Maybe because of your last words, maybe because I will be forever scarred by your betrayal and that is reminder enough… or maybe I’m cleaning the slate before sunset arrives. A fresh start? Holding out for God-know-what? I really don’t think that’s the case.
And yet I bring it up because I just can’t stop myself from exploring every possibility. I’m constantly weighing the scenarios, and that’s probably why I am right so often - I expect everything. It’s always nice when the outcome is one I didn’t see coming. It’s rare, but it happens. It happened with you.
I hate this - it brings me peace to think I’m writing to you, sharing my thoughts with you. But the words trickle out slower...probably because there’s nothing left to say.
I am OK and I will be fine. I will be happy again -- I’m already cracking jokes. I just need time and this, sharing my pain with the world, as embarrassing as it is.
I'm letting you go. I'm letting me let you go.