Indebted to hate
I previously described in my fucking feelings the pivot point of my life to date.
The knife through the heart about which I spin, if you will.
Whether discovery or reformation, that experience and those adjacent changed me fundamentally. It was a exemplar case of what is becoming, for better or worse³, my brand. Perfectly Awful.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong person.
Wrong relationship.
So very wrong that…
…
…
You thought I might say so many wrongs made a right, didn’t you.
Hell no. Life Is Shit. All the wrongs made a worse. I skipped right along into the minefield. I even had the audacity to be surprised when it blew up in my face!
But, those wrongs did make a write. (Sorry!¹)
Without all of that, all of that raucous emotion, I’d have nothing to write about. But I also wouldn’t have thought to write to begin with.
That is what I mean when I say indebted to hate. I am who I am because of what She did. No. What We did.
You see, while we flew we dreamed. There it is again… Flew.
Together we built a beautiful fantasy. Doomed — as all fantasies are — to shattering on slightest brush with reality…but bear with me a moment.
A fantasy in which we found our wings. Flew together, slew our daemons together. On wings of fire we fought and won. Ever together.
A fantasy we dreamed together. The very best writing ever to flow from my fingers. The very very best.
That’s why it hurt so damn much when we crashed.
Because in reality we never had… Anything. We were two people dating a little bit, then it didn’t work out. Happens all the time. Just a part of life. What we lost in reality… Ain’t shit.
It was the collapse of the skies that hurt. The burning out of the flame that we’d mutually kindled. We’d lived a thousand lives in our words.
A fundamentally unsustainable thing to do. Deeply toxic even. And I see that now. But at the time it was Perfect.
Maybe she didn’t even realise how much the world we built meant to me. Means to me. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t.
I may have lost what we had together but I have not lost what we created. I still remember. How could I hope to forget.
I suppose, if I wanted to be optimistic, it means I could remember how to fly.
I shall leave you with word of Hers. Words I, for better or worse³, will always carry with me.
The best way out is always through. Angels got their halos walking through the fires of hell.
¹ Am I ever⸮²
² https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irony_punctuation
³ All⁴ swords must have their two edges, after all…
⁴ Yes I know about katanas and the various others. Don’t get pedantic with me here. It’s metaphor, see.
