I’ve had to push you from my mind, to save my mind. Get you out of my Life to live my Life.
How was it possible you got through the door? Did I open it . . . open myself to you? How could you ever be happy with just the few moments we’d share? Smiling. Laughing like we were bonded by close family ties, closer than any brother or sister, when all you wanted was a bond to tie your family closer. At the holidays. For Thanksgiving. Christmas dinner.
We’d speak one heart to another. No filter between us. We needed not words of love nor hope for a future. But, something more pressing: our fears of who we were becoming in the moment, and what we would be like some next Life by not being honest with ourselves today. Not honest with our emotions, our dreams.
Did I seek too much? Read too much of something that was never there in the first place? Let my need for a true friend scare off someone more comfortable with just a mere passing acquaintance?
I shut you down, before trying to win you over. Could it be that I should have fought harder? Pushed for attention? Pulled you close during your period of vulnerability? Take advantage. Strike at delicate moment or two? Instead, I chose the more honorable route, the so-called “high road” and walked you up the hill, when what I really wanted was to carry you into the valley below.
Damn it. Can someone please tell me. Why does being nice have to hurt so much?