Saturday, June 20, 2015

Floating debris

When two people really connect, or are really attracted to each other, there's something pulling them together. But there's also something blinding their long term vision. Myopia. Every relationship starts with severe myopia. This could be good in the long run- it could mean a disciplined, daily ritual of putting on your glasses to see the world better, clearer, to see every blade of grass and every outline of a leaf that so far you only thought was a great big amorphous lump of green. And then only taking them off to shut your eyes to all of it. Or it could mean added vision impairment, myopia with hypermetropia, everything becoming fuzzy along the edges, truth submerging into reality into falsehood, into decrepit egos and mutual respect and love turning into an object to own and possess. It could mean, blindness. 

What have we done to each other? Here I sit, watching Two Night Stand on my laptop on a warm Saturday night. It's 10:30 PM, my room's a mess- great parallels being drawn to my general life there. I'm already dressed for bed, we can all smell the pathos here. And I'm all alone in an empty 3 bedroom sprawling mansion of a house, roommate missing, the TV on to some muted romantic comedy to give background, to give me white noise without the noise, to make me believe I'm not alone. Oh and my mother sitting miles away from me, texting me, she's the only person left. And maybe that's best. 

Where are you? Out with your friends, reclaiming your life that I made you lose. You see, the irony is. We were in different places when we met, maybe even opposites. I was not who you claim to dislike today. I am jealous and insecure and annoying and nagging and disrespectful and egoistical and BLIND because you made me get here. You literally held my hand and dropped me off in this land like it was school time and I couldn't bunk. I turn over my shoulder but nothing's changed. You won't admit you're bipolar, schizophrenic, an ex-depressed beautiful person who's heart was supposed to be in the right place. Who was supposed to let me fix him. I guess the joke's on me. On me and my tears. I only wanted sympathy, love, care affection and respect. Respect. For my dreams and ambitions and hopes that did involve you, if only at the last stage. What was in it for you? Not much, just a sad prize of a remainder of a lifetime of togetherness. I can understand how that's not an attractive proposition anymore. I mean look at me. But then when you do, also look at yourself. You turned a fun, sexy, cool, humorous, lively, confident, caring, ambitious and loving person (with her help as well) into this. Into me. You loathe me, and guess what. You are not alone.