04.16.05

open letter

Let us begin with, I saw it coming. That night (that day in truth, but it was a night) that you said you did not trust me a sharp silver door came sliding down between us and it will not go away. From then, perhaps from before then, it had ended, those carefree days. You say you need me, but you don�t.
I am contemplating leaving all of you people and never coming back. I want to never come back.
I tell myself that it will most likely be four years of aloneness, to prepare me for the rest of my life.
I do not think my life was meant to be one shared with other people. I am going to walk this long path of life alone and love people so intensely�but from behind a wall, but from far away and only close enough so that I can help. Then I will slough off like a scab from their shoulder and the path will begin again.
That is what I see.
I was not always like this you know. It takes a while for me to put things in words, because I always know things before I can explain them. It takes such a long time for me to pt the colours and the feelings into words and sort them out from the dreams and the stories and the patterns that sit around in my head. Did I really love it so much? Was it really that beautiful?
I have to take it apart to be sure.
Then my whims, oh they don�t make things much easier.
But yes, I used to have such high highs and such low lows and everyone would know, everyone would know which one it was today. And it was so beautiful and so horrible at the same time. You could not go on living like that though; those people die young and beautiful. It is like living at war, and you feel sometimes that you want to go back because the civilians don�t understand, they don�t know what you are talking about and you can never deny that it has happened.
So with you I learned to be quiet. To remember that no one really cares what I think. That no one will notice when I tell them anyway. I am probably only a substitute for something or someone else. That is what I took from you.
You are depressing.
And I know that isn�t me, that isn�t how I came here, that couldn�t be how I came here. So I am trying to remember.
I am like a chemist, weighting variables over and over, isolating causes.
Was it because I had run out of mirrors? Was it because my examples had left, because things ran of their own, because things that were meant to be cut finally had been?
You met me that year.
You don�t know anything else.
But I have to make a decision, a big one, all alone.
I have 24 hours.
What to do, what to do.

shi-ou-sama at 5:07 p.m.

previous | next