Do you realize the wonderful things in front of you right now? The beauty of your environment? The wonderful company in your presence? Do you realize that I am here? I look at you and I see something so wonderful. I feel your hands and wonder all the things they've touched. I envision them dancing along my body and through my unruly hair. How do you see your hands? Do you see them with blood and sickness? You can wipe them clean on my skin. I'll take your sin and regret, and we'll let it go together. We can rinse ourselves clean. Don't be afraid to touch me. I'm not scared of the things you've done or thought.
You are not who you were. I see you for what you are. The things you dwell in are not where your physical body is. But your mind is soaking in the regrets and things of your past. I watch as this happens. I stand by your body, but I don't fit in your already full mind. You forget easily about my presence. All your empty promises, resting in my hands. I am tense. I wait there staring at your shell of a body. You aren't really here with me. I'll touch you just to see if I can startle you back to life. I fail again. I feel inadequate. I wonder what I can do better to meet your needs.
We are together; I get as close to you as possible, hoping that you can feel my warmth and want to let me in. When I lay beside you I can't rest, again I am tense. You sleep so easily. You turn so easily away from me. I watch as you pull away from me and curl up into yourself. You do this unconsciously and consciously. I reach for you, and you flinch at my touch. I get out of bed. You don't miss my warmth or touch; you don't budge. I go for a walk and clench my hands around my arms. I convince myself that you want me around. I crawl back into bed trying to form my body around yours. I hardly fit, but I manage a few hours of uncomfortable sleep. I just want you to sleep well and to know that I care for you. That someone cares.
We've seen some of the same things. I don't tell you though. I still not sure why. You tell me of your depression. I just listen. You need someone to hear you. I don't respond, because I relate so much. I've learned to love the parts of me that get so sad. They contrast well with my happiness. I like to think that those who feel great sadness can also feel great happiness in the same way. I used to want to die, to drive my car off the road or jump of that building. I used to get close to the edge. I would surprise myself with how little the closeness of death scared me. I was numb. I remember feeling so dirty and gross inside that I didn't bother actually caring about how I looked on the outside. Life was exhausting, food wasn't enjoyable, I didn't want to ruin my friends time so I hid in bed. I would cry. My neighbors could hear me, they knock on the door. I didn't want to answer because I didn't want to lie. I was tired of saying I'm okay. Yeah, I know depression. I know that part of you. But I didn't tell you that I did.
I want so badly for you to talk to me; to tell me of your day and the dreams you had last night. Were they bad? Could you sleep? But more than that, I wanted you to want to tell me. When you tell me things I feel important because you don't say much to anyone else. I feel special hearing stories from your past. I am not sure if I am comfortable enough to tell you mine. I've never told anyone. I am silent. I think maybe you are too full of your own problems to fit mine in. I am easily penetrated with others problems. But you don't have any more room. I've learned to live happily with all my baggage, I don't know if I'll tell anyone all of it.
I remember how nervous I was when you asked me to be your girlfriend. I was right to be nervous. I can see that now. I know that relationships are hard, that they hurt, that I am scared. My hands trembled then, and they tremble now I as put it all on paper. The sky was beautiful then and it still is now. Nothing changes with my pain, you certainly don't change with my pain.
Things got bad. My insecurities are surfacing. I just blurt out all my fears. You keep looking away from me. I feel so ugly when you turn your head, I am not worth looking at. I can tell you are angry, you lie and say you aren't. I hate myself for making you angry, but I can't stop myself. I want so badly to make things to work. I want solutions. Once the words are out, I regret it. You were with me then, now you're gone. Everything I said about school, and stress, and breaking down. All I wanted to hear from you is I want to be with you. If you need me at school, I'll be there. You say nothing close. I feel sick to my stomach. The tears keep falling.
From then on, I knew. You stop talking to me. I feel sick whenever you are around. I can feel the oncoming pain of the words you will say to me. You work inches away, but I might as well be three hours away at school. I have to struggle to hold back the tears.
You keep me waiting, I grow eager to hear what I did wrong. I want so badly to fix the problem. I just want to care for you. I wish I could be what you want. I try to convince myself that you still want me. But deep down I know. I finally just show up at your house. I sit outside till you sister lets me in. Its the last time I'll be in bed with you. I know it. The way you look at me has changed. I feel small and annoying to you. I wish I could cover up my face. You say you want to be with me, but everything else you say proves that wrong. I take in all in. I pace my words so I don't fall apart in front of you. Everything is stirring up inside. You sit up in bed. Its over now, you want to talk about how it will be when it's over. I feel sick. I realize you don't want me, the dreaded truth is knocking on my door step. I hate this feeling. I get up. I want to run away from it all. I hate this. I want to get out of that house and out of your disapproving looks. All you want is to not feel guilty. I can't comfort you. I feel like shit.
I'm in my car and you followed me there. You want me to make you feel better, but I can't to that. You never said the words "I want to break up". You ask why I am so upset. You try to make me feel stupid for being sad. I realize that you won't be sad over me. I start to really feel the nausea. How could I mean so little? Was everything a lie? I stop. I realize that I like me better in this situation. All I want to do is love people. I care deeply for others. I love people. I know this world is a shit hole of fucked up people. But it's home to us. And I want to help others. I want their home to be good. I like that I feel sad in the moment. Because, you know what, I might be hurt more often, but one day I am going to love people so well.
