Why the hold up?
You wake up in a maze. You don’t recall entering it willingly. You don’t recall wishing to go into one. You certainly don’t know your way around it. Yet here you are, very much within a seemingly infinite maze.
That isn’t the premise of “The Maze Runner” series, similar as though it may be, that premise has the unique disposition of describing what it feels to be “hung up” on someone.
Why do we do it? A better question may be “Why do we find ourselves doing it?” We can’t seem to control it, and that’s really the whole point, isn’t it? It’s as though our logic and senses have been taken over by a parasite, having taken control of our minds, hearts and bodies and pushed us on a one-way path to self-destruction wherein we find ourselves incapable of forgoing of thoughts and feelings that are better off elsewhere.
Why do we feel hung up on others, even when they’ve made it clear — through actions or words — that they cannot provide us with what we wanted from them? I suppose it’s hope. Such a strange thing, hope is. Hope makes us believe that despite everything, there’s an infinitesimal chance that things could work out at the end of the day. It makes the hoarding of the pain and suffering that we swallow into our hearts more bearable, more cathartic and ultimately, a feeling we crave.
We fuel our own masochism because we yearn for the memories that were very much alive not too long ago. We yearn for the same feelings that made us smile from the people who thought the world of. We yearn for continuity and rebirth. We yearn for reliving a fleeting moment forever. We yearn for a Groundhog Day experience so that we may prolong that which has already gone forward in time, only we’re too stubborn to admit it to ourselves.
I remember you.
I don’t think you remember me.
Rather, I don’t think you remember the promises you once made me.
I remember your words of affection.
I remember your caresses in the early morning.
I remember your smile across from my face in a dim-lit room.
I remember how you wanted to be there, with me, and no one else.
I remember how you told me it was us against the world. How I said it back.
I remember all the small things that made you who you are.
I remember all your insecurities, all your imperfections and all your pet peeves.
I remember it all.
I remember so that I don’t pick up the phone and call you after midnight.
I remember so that I don’t pull you into the blackhole that is my mind, lest you be dragged back into that which you tried your best to escape not too long ago.
I don’t think you remember all the things you’ve made me feel.
I don’t think you want to admit you had any hand in it at all; for it makes you an accomplice to my self-inflicted misery.
I don’t think you wish to bring up the past, because it reminds you of your humanity.
I don’t think you like thinking of yourself as human, because that’s just a weakness that no longer fits with the facade you’ve put up.
I don’t think you like being reminded of our time together. Feelings are and always have been your worst enemy.
I think you’ve convinced yourself so long ago that you’re unworthy of love, so much so that you’d rather push people away than let them love you.
I think you’ve convinced yourself that you’re better off alone, but you can’t rationalize why your head is always on the cusp of imploding from all the noise within.
I think you’d rather stay willfully lost inside your maze, because you prefer not to be found, lest you be forced to confront your past, your feelings and their consequences.
I think you’re afraid to tell me that you never wanted me.
I think you’re afraid to tell me that what you said was just reflections of your insecurities, but that you don’t see in me that culmination of that which will give you peace of mind.
I think you’re afraid to admit any of it.
I think you’re afraid I’d leave if you do.
Then your memories would have no keeper.
Then you won’t have a safety fallback anymore.
Then you won’t have me.
In another life, in another time, I’d be less of me, you’d be just the same and you’d be everything I want.
In another life, in another time, I’d be just the same, and you’d look me in the eye and smile.