people juice turned rancid in the cold.

 everything's funny until you're in it. and then it's no longer funny. a lot like how my friend told me something she was going through and i gave her impeccable advice and i was going through the same thing but somehow it wasn't as easy to solve.

sometimes i make a fool of my fight.

and so do the people in the audience.

you know what

i hate being a tragic kink for boys who talk about living in empty houses. loud houses. try to come off as soft and well spoken, somehow making idiocy look tolerable.

i hate being the placeholder filling the hole inside them. until they understand they actually want the dog and the house and that they actually want to stay for a girl who's never me.

i hate being in love with potential oscar winners. 

i'm so tired of them reciting the same speeches.

i'm so tired of watching them star in the same damn movie.

i'm so tired of always being in the audience.

and i am so damn tired of clapping when it ends. 

it was so stupid how are you even getting decent ratings for this? 

i hate being marketed at the girl who got away. 

the girl that the dad talks about to his kids as the one he really did love. showing them the letters she wrote him. showing them pictures of her laughing.

the girl he wish understood him, because then she'd be the one.

the girl they will never know almost died for him.

dude you have to stop taking reuse-reduce-recycle this literally.

***

the other day i was on call with two friends of mine, one of which i hold high regard for. 

when he dropped off, the second one decided to stay on. 

he thinks i don't know him. 

i already know him. i've already figured out the spots i can hit if provoked. 

in a minute, i know him better than he knows himself.

if asked, he would deny it. 

i even know the tone in which he would deny it in. i've played this role too many times.

still, i decide to see where he's going with it, hoping he's a little smarter than i've figured him out to be.

i know exactly what he is about to do. 

he's not very lucky. he didn't catch me at a good time.

i have grown to be less tolerant nowadays.

he speaks differently. the tone is softer. with sudden affection. i notice the shift.

he is a little too vain to understand that i have. i secretly mock this vanity.

he gives me a nickname. 

i wonder if he knows how many nicknames the memory of me has yet not left.

or in not my words,

the memory of me dirties.

usually in this scenario,

if you're in the position i was, you have two very nice options.

one, you play the role giving him the benefit of the doubt. he couldn't be that bad right ? 

it is almost always that bad. depending on how smart he thinks he is.

two, you laugh at this. because he is funny. this is funny. 

but you have a quota of fun in a day.

he does not speak of his intent directly.

i notice. i don't care if i look into things too much anymore.

he speaks in hollow metaphors and life experiences that bore me.

still, i want to see it to the end. i want to know if i was right.

he eventually comes around to talk about me. it took him 23 minutes. 

he has no idea i'm playing cake match on my phone as he talks.

(none of them do)

i smile to myself when he starts saying the things i knew he would.

you and i    we're in the same boat.

no actually. we're not even in the same universe.

you know all the misery i've been through. how could i not understand you.

and it's the same sob story.

i feel like the applications officer at a popular university

because i know that people can be that horrible, i could never be horrible to you. do you think i ever could ?

absolutely. no doubt about that.

i know you're scared of committing. i won't force you into anything you wouldn't want to do. it's all in your hands. i know it's been hard before.

we both know he doesn't give a fig whether it's in my hands or his hands or god's.

this is a pretty please before the tantrum.

we've been through so many screw-ups. just give me your word that you don't intend on hurting me. that's all i ask.

this sounds like a prenup he's asking me to sign. a guarantee that i won't throw hands.

it's strange. i've never met anyone like you. you're so different.

no, no no. i'm seeing through this like saran wrap. you've got to be insufferably self-obsessed not to.

you're so precious. i can't believe we're even talking, do you know that ? how could anyone ever hurt you? they don't even know how profound you are. they are idiots for not realizing what they had.

dude which textbook are you all reading

you understand me. i understand you. and i'll wait for as long as you need me to.

i snorted water out when he said that. i burst into laughter. 

i mean, he's not even asking me anymore, is he.

he's kind of just informing me along the way.

it's funny because it's november.

***

i've always moved on from things.

it might've taken me days. or months. or years. but i do move on.

and when i do, every molecule of what happened has left me.

usually i try to tell people to make amends before that happens. if any. because after that, i barely remember anymore.

nobody takes it seriously. instead they get mad at me when i've left town.

it's been a year and this boy contacted me again. 

if this was him wanting to be friends again, i wouldn't mind. but nobody wants to be friends. i know what he wants. i'm just surprised he's still stuck on it.

i don't like it when people come looking for explanations for things i've moved on from.

but i always hear people out. i think everyone deserves that.

the way he speaks to me has no warmth. no consideration. his tone is very close to a demand. somewhere along the way he has convinced himself that i owe him an explanation. somewhere along the way i have enabled that to happen. i remind myself to have stricter boundaries.

why are you playing the victim this hard ?

i remember what he is talking about. most importantly i remember the 2 hour shower i took after what happened. the sentence hits me like a brick.

he says i'm dramatic. but i've been very calm. he's always been the anxious one. i wait for all his anger to fume out. i can't deal with angry people.

he calls me a bitch.

i let out a laugh. he's nowhere close to hurting my feelings. i find his frustration funny. i know that he can tell how out of it i am. the way i don't care enough to even be offended. or to change his idea of me in his head.

an idea he's trying very hard to hold together. it would be easier just to see the truth, i suggest.

he gets angry.

he chooses to believe a friend who cares about him even littler than i do.

it's easier for him to blame me for all of it.

it doesn't matter anymore, but i don't tell him that. it must mean a lot to him. 

i hold my tongue for the version of him who was kind to me once. who made me a mixtape i still have.

the version of me he remembers is long gone.

people refuse to believe i can change. 

i don't have the fight in me to make them believe otherwise.

***

i was talking to this girl yesterday and i could tell she was sad.

every time this happens i let her talk it out. sometimes people think it is boring and overbearing to talk until it leaves your system, but it has always worked for us.

she says i don't understand. i didn't do anything wrong.. did i ?

i'm not sure what to answer to that.

but what i do know is that she did nothing wrong. 

not in a oh she's my friend, she could never do something like that

but in a more

i've seen what she has tolerated. understood. accepted. i've seen how all of that amounted to nothing.

i tell her she did nothing wrong. i've never been more certain.

sometimes it feels wrong to comfort her, knowing she did nothing to deserve any of this. 

knowing that it is her right to go and bash the guy's face.

still there i am

sitting with her 

listening

and knowing that the whole world pities him more than they will ever even feel sorry for her.

this is the modern day perspective on the inflicter. mass media overuses anything and everything even slightly good.

maybe it comes from an understanding that 

oh she's always been the strong one.

and

oh he can't deal with it. he's not equipped to !

i hear this a lot. i'm just not like that. i can't do it the way you do.

i wonder if they think of me as some superhero. with an extra limb. it doesn't feel very flattering. it just feels like another expectation i'm supposed to meet.

but then i realize

i never really blamed my father except when he got really frightening. 

i always sort of silently blamed my mother. for not fighting back, for not understanding him, for not leaving when she was supposed to. 

it came from a strange belief that

she can take it. she's stronger. he's not.

i kept on forgiving him. over and over again. telling myself he's not as strong

he's not as strong. i can take it. i'm stronger.

looking back, my logical reasoning snickers at these open ended justifications.

at how i believed a child was stronger than a 38 year old man.

the forgiveness i had for my father i had for everyone else who turned out to be like him. 

similar narcissists with oedipus complexes turned spiraling desperate animals throwing themselves a pity party. throwing tantrums.

he asked me if i could help him reconnect with my mother.

i had never felt more disgusted.

would you tell me to go back if i were in her place, i asked.

he didn't know what to say.

i don't forgive him anymore, i tell him. consequently, i don't forgive anyone else.

i don't love him, i tell him. i do care, i will care for a long time. and if something happens to him, i'll run to him. but i don't love him. consequently, i don't love all the reflections of him i surrounded myself with.

i will not make the mistakes my mother did.

you did nothing wrong, i tell my friend.

you just didn't know when to stop. now you know.

***

i'm the softest in love. 

i was the happiest in love. maybe in my head.

now there are these strange, confused people trying to simulate it. trying to mock it. 

i reach out for nothing.

nobody knows this is the month i mourn in silence. i don't tell either.

breaking my heart, 'tis the season i guess.

i'm the softest in love. happiest in love.

but that is something i can't afford. something i don't want to steal.

i was the softest in love. happiest  in love.

i think more than anything, i miss that version of me. i hadn't been soft and happy in a long time.

and then i hadn't been that heartbroken in a long time.

now i mock affection again. knowing that my bedroom has seen me beg for it. 

now

i dissect people down to their organs. knowing i once buried the knife and buried my eyes.

now

i believe nothing. knowing i had believed everything.

now i 

have started to resemble everything that breaks me.

and i seem to be indifferent. it is a small price to pay to lock my gates up again.

***

i will not fight other women, i repeat to myself. i don't fight girls.

i don't fight girls.

i don't fight girls.

i won't fight you. i've been you, i'm not fighting you.

***

a friend asked me if i would do it over again, if i could.

i thought for a second. i thought, because it took all of me to say no.

to say that if i got to do it all over again, i would've turned to the other side of the bed and fallen asleep.

to say that i loved and i lost myself in the process, and if it happened all over again, i'd choose myself.

i'd run.

to say that what people feel about me was never my responsibility.

to say that i never want to sit on the edge of nothingness, waiting for the ball to drop again.

to say that i'm okay not having the love i wanted if that keeps me safe. keeps me alive.

to say i'll be okay choosing the full-stop over the semicolon.

***

i miss something. so much.

but i have no idea what

i don't even remember what.

it's the ghost itch.

 

                      (The Japanese Footbridge and the Water Lily Pool, Giverny - Claude Monet)