Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Unfinished. Whether You Like It, Or Not.

Taking me for granted is something you’ve always managed to pull off even though you don’t do it voluntarily, and it just “happens”.
They say time heals everything, but in this case why does time hurt like a six inch nail? Can you not judge what would hurt me or upset me? Can you not see that the slightest thing that you say just pushes the nail deeper?
“Oh but it’s been so long, he is used to it, what’s new”. This is what you told Amy when she called, the night I sounded harrowed, we argued and you thought we fought. Well you know what? I’m not used to it. Yeah, it’s been really long since everything I’ve gone through, even though the face of that one person in your life has changed, the situation remains the same for me. In fact, it’s worse. A new face, new stories, new risks. With each passing fancy you believe it will work, and in the end you get hurt. It’s worse because you talk about this new fancy of yours with equal conviction and affection as you talked about the last one, like you’re dead serious about this, more serious than “Mr. Ex”. And what am I expected to do? Listen patiently, give you advice, laugh at a lame ruse of his, which you think is hilarious, when all I can concentrate on, is struggling to stop a tear, while I hear your over enthusiastic happiness, like a child with a new toy.
Isn’t this what you want? Isn’t this what a “best friend” is supposed to do? Can’t you see that my life doesn’t revolve around him, or his jokes or his song for you, or his day well spent!? Really? Can’t you see that? All this while, I hear these things and all I can sense is that same thought in my head over and over again, that I love this girl. The only thing, the only fancy that remains the same is that of you with me. Tides change, rocks break, fire dies, minds rust, fancies change with a glow in your eyes, but all that I am reduced to is that person holding the phone smiling because you are; agreeing to you believing that God exists, even though I sing you to sleep, cutting the phone to an empty silence, the sound of your breath, more precious than anything on this planet, or even away from it.
What I learn the next day breaks my heart. Looks like I’m not enough for you. As the night settled, you woke up after my song, only to call him and talk till sunrise. That’s that. It’s done, right? Why call me up just to tell me that? Again, does my world revolve around him? His morning sickness?
What did you attain by sharing that with me? Too late. Smashed. Broken. The nail has not only been hammered in, but now it’s beginning to cause cracks. Cracks, that nothing you say or do can cement them.
Well in any case, according to you, I enjoy my misery, correct?

I call this Unfinished because I think theres a lot more to come. A lot more to go through. Together.

1 comment:

  1. :( Well written.
    But its sad.
    And it rings a bell.