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Sunday, February 05, 2006

The darkness I want to see in someone else's heart

This is my first post on this blog. No one knows me really here. This is how is used to feel to write in my own blog. No one you know is reading, no one out there. Just me and the computer. I can write down my thoughts and not know who reads it. There is no one out there just trolling to start an argument. No one who expects me to have something to say. No one who wants to get into long or heated discussions about politics. The blog was just me writing into the void. Feeling that I can let my thoughts out there, so I no longer have to hold it inside.

It's a good feeling as I look into the empty "compose" blog. I didn't expect this is how I would feel about writing here. I just promised Troy I would write something. I didn't know what I was going to write. I just came here.

I had forgotten the feeling of anonanimity, at least in my mind. I now remember why it was somehow a more peaceful practice, practically meditative when I wrote in my blog in the time before. I like this.

So now, this isn't the protangonist of the other blog speaking, this is me...

And what does I have to say today?

I think I am dissappointed that the man I loved isn't the man i thought he was. He is not who I thought he was at all. I think it's sad that he can never be who I need him to be because he's just not that person. I called him tonight because he was sad the last time I talked to him and I wanted to check on him and see if he was okay. Instead of thanking me or being glad I called, he seemed annoyed, as if I was butting into his life. How fast things change. A few days ago when he was sad, he wanted to talk. Today, he is fine and he doesn't want to talk to me anymore.

How good it feels to write this into the void. How maybe that's what's the best thing about having a blog. I can write down my thoughts and share it with some people, people who don't know me, or know the situation. Who don't have a lot of opinions of who I am, and what I should be. Do not know the history or the people. I feel lighter. I think maybe I can refrain from calling him up and telling him that he makes it nearly impossible to be friends with because he can be so unlovable. He can be so brash and blunt. He has no softness that one can fall into.

Once upon a time he was the only softeness I could fall into. He was the first person in years that I felt like I could meld with. I remember thinking, "this is the first day of the rest of my life," after I met him because suddenly the world openned up. Like it was a safer place. Like out there, when I wasn't looking, when I thought it couldn't happen, I would bump into the person who I needed most to bump into. Who would kiss me just the way I needed to be kissed. He would let me lean onto him and make me feel safe and that there was someone who would let me lean onto him.

I don't know if it was just the time. I don't know if he had changed since we met. I don't know if I just mistook everything. Just got everything wrong in my head. Like I read the subtitles wrong as if it was foreign language and as I learnt to speak it more clearly what I thought I understood is not what was to be read at all. I have no answers for that. I will never know. It's like sometimes when I looked at him he didn't seem like the person I met before.

I think he probably thinks the same of me. In fact, I often thought that. He's forgotten who I am. I was the girl who he told me changed his life. Who made him think there was something else out there. And I ceased being the person who was "out there," that he wanted. When I was standing in front of him, I was this other person, and that girl he fell for is somewhere else out there, so he had to go find her. He didn't see I was that girl. He had forgotten.

If he reads that, he would have a lot to say about how that is not true. He would find the meanest, most cruel way to tell me about how that was not true. In fact he would say that he knew very well that I am that girl and he didn't like her at all. She is just not the right person for him, he's looking for something else. Then I think he would get a little pleasure from knowing I would be hurt.

That's just who he is.

I think he actually gets pleasure from being cruel because in his head, it gives him power and he's better. If it hurts someone, it means they care and if he can hurt them, it means he has control. He's is one up on them. These days I actually think his heart is shaded so not much light goes in.

That is until he's vunerable. Until suddenly he has some feelings, that he becomes the person who I once knew. That's when he calls me and need to talk. That's when he suddenly rememebers why i was so special to him, because I understood and I could listen. That moment something openned up and he craves the light. So he needs to talk to me and say he's sorry.

"For what?" I ask,

"For everything." He says.

"And what would that be? What did you do?"

"For hurting you."

"I don't think you know what you really did. I don't actually think you're sorry for any specific thing you did because when i tell you, you just tell me that it doesn't matter. That what I felt was not important. That's what you say, "That's not important.""

That is actually what he says, when i was sad, "That is not important."

It never occurred to him that is was important to me.

If it was important to him, he would not have done it. So obviously it wasn't. But I wanted him to know it was important to me.

But even if it was important to me, it didn't matter because for him it wasn't.

I think some people would call him selfish, but I have gotten passed thinking that. I have given up using that word. It doesn't even seem to feel like it applies.

Now I feel it's more stupidity. Just plain stupidity. Thickness. Denseness. Unpenetrable blankness that turned dark. The inability to open one's mind to put a different thought from a different perspective into the equation.

Sometimes I cry.

I cry sometimes for myself obviously. But sometimes I cry for a little boy who will have to contend with that person as he grows up. That this is his father and as much as I can just eventually walk away, forget, move on, live life. That boy will always have him as a father.

I cry because I think. He really really cared about me. He really really respected what I thought. Sometimes when things are quiet in the stillness I think I can see that he loved and maybe still loves me.

He called me to tell me that he hadn't forgotten about me. That he still thinks of me. That I am different from the other women. That when he is down and he is sad, when the blackness has truely gone into him, he uses the memory of me to hold him up. To warm him up.

He wouldn't do that if he didn't care. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't care at that moment. He did that because he did care, and cared at that very moment because he wanted me not to think that he didn't. That he had moved on faster than I had. That he wanted me to know so I didn't feel that pain anymore. He called to tell me that he cared.

And that makes me cry because he cared about me and my feelings but did everything to break my spirit. To not listen. To talk over me. To make fun of my thoughts. To be angry. To be mean.

I like to think that was the darkness in his heart speaking.

It's better to think that he has some innate darkness than to see him as incompetent. To admit that he can do no better when his heart if full is more frightenning. To know someone loves, cares, and wants the best for someone else but can't achieve what needs to be done is more depressing, sadder, more hopeless than to think it's just part of him.

To be innately dark is nature.

To hurt, to let down, to dissapoint when one wants to do something else is far more tragic.


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A beautiful way of writing, a beautiful way of processing darkness through writing.
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