I look at you. Sometimes with the long for your approval. Other times with joy from fond memories. And others, with emptiness. I find myself in some desperate attempt to win over your attention and know that one hundred percent of the response that I receive is in fact honest and heart felt. I don't believe you. And with that thought, my heart drops into my toes and punches me in the gut.
Damn you for making my life so hard. Damn you for ever making me question. Damn you for not getting rid of her before now. Damn you for not seeing that I need more. Damn you for not realizing that this is not always about you and your problems. What about mine? I know I'm not perfect. I am so far from it. I am sure you have quite a few "Damn you's" to come at me too. And you're entitled to them. Just tell me. Talk to me. Be the other half of me that you used to be.
I tell you those three sacred words and with each time, I question more and more of what they mean. Moreso, of what they mean to us? Anything? Something? Something small? Something big perhaps, that we've hidden under the daily bullshit?
The nerve endings have tingling sensations, in spurts. I do feel it from time to time. But Lord Christ, why does it have to be so hard? Why can't the love just come naturally. Why does it take prodding. Why does it take hurting so much to get an apology? Why the fuck does it all have to be so difficult?
I see you try. I see you attempting to make your life better. And I know this is what you have to do. But I still sit here, alone, in a home full of bodies wondering when I can become a part of your life again. I miss you. I miss the dream of what my life was supposed to be. And I am utterly confused. The confusion is what makes me so sad. I will face the world with a smile and tell them how proud of you I am. Because God knows that I am proud. Of you. So much more than you will ever know. I want you to be happy. Sober. Fullfilled. Should I feel guilty for wanting the same?