Every time the same story all over again. A usual black and white motif. Having so many things to say to you, so many things to show you and yet, not speaking out a word, not showing you anything so as not to appear weak. This is the key to our era – appear strong even if you aren’t, even if you can’t, even if you don’t want to be, even if you love your weak parts and your sentimentality.
For the others, you always have to appear strong, unbending, and cynical; certainly ignorant and unaffected by the behaviours of others. Sentimentally superior and empty; thus more acceptable in a society where emotion equals weakness.
To walk along the trends of our time, where insecurity and selfishness reign, we need to pretend that nothing really bothers us, that everything is fine and that we don’t need or want anything more. Inside of you, words, thoughts and desires will be screaming but you must press “mute” tenaciously.
It’s not cowardice or fear, it’s one of the moments when you think that words will go to waste, that thoughts will not find any receivers or listeners and desires shall be turned down before they arefulfilled. Then, where’s the point of speaking out?
But it’s exactly this silence that sometimes makes such a ground-breaking noise that wants to penetrate the selfishness and pride and restrain and say everything she wants, to risk to be exposed, to complain, to bend and break.
And somehow like this, I always end up making mistakes with you – the same old mistakes. I know the route and still, every time I embark on this road, I am doomed to get lost on the way and pretend as if the destination will change or as if I don’t know that such a start has a predestined end.
You underestimate me, my love, and I don’t know whether this is only your fault. I definitely am partly guilty of this but not entirely. You underestimate me every time you insist on assigning me a secondary role in your life, in a temporary and indifferent show. Every time you refuse to see and admit that with me it’s different, or it should be different.
You don’t give me much space and for every two steps you make towards me, you make three steps backwards. You played with my nerves and my patience enough until I resigned, I got tired and said no. If it wasn’t for this selfishness that is always there, lurking and refuses to bend for something that has not yet proven its value… For something not worth bending for…
I want you but I fear you. You confuse me. I don’t know if I can convince you, I don’t even know if I want to. It’s not trying that scares me. It’s just that I don’t really know whether It’s worth trying to conquer you. I never got along very well with shadows but it’s rather the bright things I like.
I hold a large complaint and bitterness for you. Not anger or wickedness. For the times you underestimated me, for the moments you looked down on me, for the early dawns that you remembered me, for the mornings that you emptied me out, for the decisions you never made clear, for the question marks your continuously put in my head, for the doubts, the insecurities you imposed on me. For all these moments when I wondered whether it’s my fault, whether I wasn’t enough, whether I did something wrong.
Adding up to all these moments you owe me, you also owe me a chance. A chance to get to know you better, a chance to skip the hide-and-seek part, a chance to let go and not look back. Even though I am not sure I wanted it, I know I deserved it.
But I don’t have any more time for dangerous passer by. I don’t have time for people who want to empty me out. Not any more. If you think that you deserve a place next to me, then grab a beer and come sit by me. If not, then do me a favour; Don’t you ever get into my life and thoughts any more.