Hello, Awareness, My Old Friend
‘The way you show love is toxic,’ he told her over that single glass of wine neither of them had the stomach to finish.
She understood he was hurt by it, but it took her a heartbreak of her own to actually understand it.
Words do things.
She talked and wrote too much, and about delicate matters. About Life and Death and everything in between like it’s nothing, and about Love as if she wanted to make them feel it.
It hurt them when they did.
It hurt her when they didn’t.
She should’ve had her own trigger warning.
The alchemy of Meaning, of what we do in people’s heads and hearts and bodies when we express feelings, was way beyond her.
Yet she was unknowingly performing it. And calling it Art, even.
She’d had the same problem since forever. She thought she was invisible, that nobody was really paying attention. Then when they showed her they were, she suddenly shed her cool and wanted more. AND MORE. AND NOW. RIGHT NOW. AND AGAIN.
Then when they got the hang of it, she’d get sick of it. Just like that.
Except she wouldn’t ever get sick of the ones who ran away timely.
Such a cliche.
She’d been the one not paying attention, stuck in her own head juggling words, then getting into people’s heads and hearts and bodies to get some fresh ones, unaware of the mess she was making when she thew it up back on them.
I wish I could say she was going to stop it now.
The least I can say is that she’s going to try to be more Aware.
And keep some of those words to herself.