"His Life As I Live It"
January 16th, 2013; tumblr
“I just want to find something out there that’s as crappy as I feel inside.”
There’s my true quote of the day. More like of the month since that’s what this place has become to me. It’s just too clean. Too orderly. The people are too kind. Too friendly. This place really is the best of the options. And I’m so messed up I can’t even appreciate it.
Of course not. I don’t get the good life. I don’t deserve it. He does. All my merit is truly him. His path. His journey. His life. His sacrifice is the only reason I’m even here to begin with.
I shouldn’t be around people. Not as I am. I clearly can’t handle it. I can’t speak to them correctly. I can’t, well no, “I don’t” is far more accurate. I lost touch with that part of me that had anything to do with empathy. Funny. Can’t spell empathy without “empty.” I’ll shelve that for somewhere down the line probably, maybe, yeah, probably not.
So the point of this. I lose points like they were covered in butter. Three bands adorn my fingers now. One of silver, one of plastic, and the last of twine. None of that is relevant to anything.
I stunk of her. Her scent caught to the wind in the gentlest of breezes. That’s how I knew she was too close. I let her get too close. I hate the fact that I enjoyed it. The comfort. The closeness. The warmth. I hate myself because she’s not mine. She’s married and I know better. I know that I have control. That she’d stop if I just spoke the words but I choked on them. I went with the flow because I knew it wouldn’t last. No, I went with the flow because I hoped it would. Just by acknowledging it, I knew its days were numbered though. But I’m just so tired of the pain. It’s my home though. I was born of it and can never leave as long as I continue to be little more than his shadow.
And just like that my how the gears start turning. I’m not even done yet and my brain’s already trying to coax me into making this piece into something more digestible. It’s all a show you know? It’s all for the masses, the audience, the stranglers who’ll find this some decades down the line after whatever I’ve come to be fades to dust just to realize I could’ve really used some help. But that’s me being pretentious. My end will more likely be as mundane as my existence. I’m “vanilla” he told me. I don’t register. That was his assessment of my shortcoming, when it comes to women at least. With people, well, the list grows exponentially.
It would’ve never gone past the hugs and hand-holding. Sadly the elation was fleeting on arrival. I’m a destroyer. It’s all I seem to be. Nothing can survive my wake. Makes me perfect for the end. But for all that, I still can’t shake feeling like garbage. I know my fate. I know nothing good can come to me as I continue down his path but it’s the choice I’ve made and reaffirm every day. Yeah, the dark’s mine. This night’s watch patch couldn’t be more accurate. I really should burn this and start anew.
Would I even could start anew, it’s still his life and the pain, turmoil, strife, sorrow; existence as it stands now will never let me forgo the responsibility of such. Whatever this that I exist as is nothing, to the legacy.