Alone
Title : Alone
You keep telling her “everybody lies”, you have never lied to her. You tell her she thinks of you as a project. To her you are worthy cause, save the twisted limping old bastard. You left out minor details - You didn’t tell her… you need her to save you.
* * *
It’s funny how you would rather believe that people can’t love you than accept the fact that you do have some redeeming qualities. It’s funny how you hate yourself for being a cripple. You hate the world for taking the one thing that matters to you the most - mobility. Yeah, you could still walk but everyday you see pity in strangers’ eyes. You feel them staring at you as you pass by. You try to be as obnoxious as you can be so that they won’t treat you any special maybe they’ll even hate you.
Hate is better than pity.
But when she looks at you, you don’t see any trace of pity. She sees you for the man that you were, are. She strides beside you, always confident about your abilities. It’s simple - she believes in you. She would watch you, she looks up to you. She watches you as you spout solutions to patients who have the most bizarre sickness. She watches you as you drink your coffee, she watches you in pain. Always her eyes are on you. She doesn’t treat you like a fragile vase waiting to shatter; she knows that you are strong. She likes you - just the way you are. She likes your childishness; she likes your quips and even tolerates your sarcasm. She’s indignant when you spy on people but she worships how you deduce things. She likes the way you categorize people, making them less complicated, making every motive and actions simple.
You keep telling her “everybody lies”, you have never lied to her. You tell her she thinks of you as a project. To her you are worthy cause, save the twisted old limping bastard. But you didn’t finish your thoughts… you wanted to tell her how much you like the fact that she likes you. You left out minor details - you didn’t tell her that you think she’s really beautiful and that you’re amazed that she picked you. You think you’re jaded but you want to be otherwise. You didn’t tell her… you need her to save you.
You hate yourself. You hate the fact that you will never be complete. You hate that you’re so dependent on drugs and you hate the lonely nights in your apartment. You hate her; you hate her because she could’ve pushed you a little bit more. You hate that she gave up on you easily. But mostly, you hate yourself for allowing your past to ruin whatever future you could’ve had with her. You hate it. You hate the damn fucking world, and here you are sitting alone, drinking scotch and swallowing Vicodin. Wallowing in self-pity.
Alone.
But you don’t really hate her. You can’t hate her - no, you will never hate her. You just lie to yourself, it’s easier that way, less complicated. You won’t lie to her but you will lie to yourself, just this once and maybe everyday afterwards.