nothing real here to bury

and maybe that's the problem. i want something i can hold in my hands, something that looks like pain. something raw and ragged and worn down by its own revolution. something tangible to curse and beat and perhaps ultimately, burn. or bury. whichever comes first.

but all i have are feelings. i'm supposed to let myself feel them, let them have their way with me, acknowledge them, inhabit them, maybe have a chat and a cup of tea.

i'm supposed to welcome them into my new life, when i was pretty happy with my old one.

the other day i read an article about the practice of nonattachment. it made me sad. i mean i get it, the why behind it, especially now. the notion that everything is temporary was beaten into me six months ago. but what kind of love can you experience if you're always holding back, standing off to one side, waiting for it to change, or disappear?

meh. maybe i'd be better off if i could do that. but the poet in me cries foul. where are the forevers, the profound feelings, the deep permanent connection we think of as love? i have to think about it.

i have similar thoughts about this notion of "living your best life." i get the idea behind it, i do. everyone deserves to be happy. but if your happiness only comes at the destruction of others, or if you are causing people pain on your way there, how can it be your best life? After a while living your best life starts to sound like sanctioned selfishness. i have to think more about that, too.

do you ever get tired of thinking? of trying to figure life out? is it just me? it can't be, right? surely i'm not the only one looking for answers. maybe i just ask the wrong questions.

i used to wonder what you were thinking. pretty often. or if you were thinking about anything at all besides sports. no offense, you're just not very philosophical. you do seem to have mastered the practice of nonattachment, though. ha.

i know now that at least part of the time, you were thinking about her. or most of the time. who knows? i know you intentionally mislead me. i know you used me. you would say that wasn't intentional, but how could it be anything but?<

i know you're flawed. i always knew that. we all are. but i didn't know how cruel you could be. how callous. i knew you were selfish. but i didn't know how deep. i always thought that beneath the surface there was something or someone good and quiet and kind. maybe that's just what i wanted to think. either that or you are just way better at deception than i can fathom. which is also a possibility.

i think of the effort you put in. to deceive everyone in your life. for six years. that's a lot of effort. no wonder you were always sleeping. i think of the things you said to me that were the opposite of the truth. again and again and again. not just lies or misinformation, not just leaving things out, but the exact opposite of what was true.

i think about how stupid i was to believe you. man, i wish i could bury those feeling in their own black box. forever. but no, they're going to haunt me for the rest of my life. that is what you have left me here with. self-doubt. that is the gift of your betrayal. and it just keeps on giving.

a trickster. the pretender. a mirage. my mind can't reconcile any of them with who i thought you were. i don't think it ever will. maybe who i thought you were was only who i wanted you to be. maybe i fooled myself the entire time. maybe nothing is true, ever.

i have no idea. i've never felt more like i know nothing.

i will always have only questions. never answers.

i used to be okay with that. i used to be okay with so many things.

now i'm just not okay.

ha.

but don't worry. at some point, i will be.

. . . . . . .

Writing my way through the pain of betrayal. Because writing has always been the thing that saves me. Finding my way back to myself through this forest of words.

#1 in this series is here

#2 in this series is here