Memory of a dream forlorn
I remember how much she loved me,
and how I needlessly discarded it.
I remember seeing her heartbroken,
and feeling like the most contemptable creature on the planet.
I remember how heavy my footsteps felt as I walked
day after day, and how numb my head felt night after night.
I remember how I could only find temporary release from my self inflicted wound
for minutes at a time (if I was lucky) at the prospect of someone new.
Someone who wouldn't know how detestable I really was.
I remember how it would all come back, especially late at night.
As random images flickered across my tv screen my imagination would run wild
at the thought of coming up with some way to go back into time and keep myself
from making that horrible mistake. Then I would see us. We two. We HAPPY two.
I remember that no matter how hard I tried to force my brain to bend time and space,
I would fail. Each infomercial or music video would serve to remind me of the futility of it all.
I remember laying in my bed in the fetal position, damning myself for being an asshole.
I remember the physical weakness from my inability to eat; the loss of taste and smell.
I remember waking up every morning with swollen eyes and soggy pillow cases.
But, most of all, I remember that my eyesight tricked me constantly.
I remember that, even when it was noon and cloudless, I had difficulty seeing through some sort of
hazy fog. It was as though there was an eternal twilight about me, or some sort of lens that made colors darker and less defined.
So I remember all of this now (this was YEARS ago), and I ask myself, "Why do I miss that feeling even though I can remember all of the self torture I went through for a year and a half?"
I still contend that it wasn't worth it. I would do worse things years later and feel half as bad.
So did I even learn anything? Apparently I only learned that "women and children first" only applies to lifeboats. Love and war? Every man for themselves. Strike quickly and strike first.
So what hope is there of nurturing any kind of wholesome relationship if the pattern has been self immolation?
And can you really argue against the fact that it's easier to burn something then to waste all that time rebuilding it?
It's not even a priority of mine. It just comest to me late at night when I can't sleep.
Even now, 9 years later, I still remember.
It wasn't your fault. I did this of my own accord and I lived with my decision. But I'll be damned if I ever repent. If I've never asked God for forgiveness, why would I ask you?
There is comfort in solitude. You just want a companion [read: lover] sometimes...
and how I needlessly discarded it.
I remember seeing her heartbroken,
and feeling like the most contemptable creature on the planet.
I remember how heavy my footsteps felt as I walked
day after day, and how numb my head felt night after night.
I remember how I could only find temporary release from my self inflicted wound
for minutes at a time (if I was lucky) at the prospect of someone new.
Someone who wouldn't know how detestable I really was.
I remember how it would all come back, especially late at night.
As random images flickered across my tv screen my imagination would run wild
at the thought of coming up with some way to go back into time and keep myself
from making that horrible mistake. Then I would see us. We two. We HAPPY two.
I remember that no matter how hard I tried to force my brain to bend time and space,
I would fail. Each infomercial or music video would serve to remind me of the futility of it all.
I remember laying in my bed in the fetal position, damning myself for being an asshole.
I remember the physical weakness from my inability to eat; the loss of taste and smell.
I remember waking up every morning with swollen eyes and soggy pillow cases.
But, most of all, I remember that my eyesight tricked me constantly.
I remember that, even when it was noon and cloudless, I had difficulty seeing through some sort of
hazy fog. It was as though there was an eternal twilight about me, or some sort of lens that made colors darker and less defined.
So I remember all of this now (this was YEARS ago), and I ask myself, "Why do I miss that feeling even though I can remember all of the self torture I went through for a year and a half?"
I still contend that it wasn't worth it. I would do worse things years later and feel half as bad.
So did I even learn anything? Apparently I only learned that "women and children first" only applies to lifeboats. Love and war? Every man for themselves. Strike quickly and strike first.
So what hope is there of nurturing any kind of wholesome relationship if the pattern has been self immolation?
And can you really argue against the fact that it's easier to burn something then to waste all that time rebuilding it?
It's not even a priority of mine. It just comest to me late at night when I can't sleep.
Even now, 9 years later, I still remember.
It wasn't your fault. I did this of my own accord and I lived with my decision. But I'll be damned if I ever repent. If I've never asked God for forgiveness, why would I ask you?
There is comfort in solitude. You just want a companion [read: lover] sometimes...