screws within heart
There are occasions of clarity in this battered little head of mine. It has been a day that was rather uninteresting until Wren called and said one of the more horrible things she has said to me. She does this quite often, well often enough. The funny thing about it is I don’t think she’s ever meant a single one of them. In moments of distress it is hard to take and I tend to fall apart requiring me to sort myself out and then spend the next few hours sifting through what she said for the actual meaning of her words. Sometimes I still don’t know what she is trying to say. I’m forced however to give her the benefit of my doubts because I choose to.
I’ve said my share of really stupid things. I’ve said a few of them to Wren in response to her unintended cruelty.
(Yes, yes… It may amuse some of you to know that I’ve grown tired of looking for reasons to continue to beat myself into the ground. I suppose suffering artists really needn’t look for their suffering, it just comes to them naturally. This implies that I view myself as an artist, suffering as well, but I’ll leave such labels up to you and the writers of history books…)
Today I nearly gave up on Wren entirely; I don’t mean as a romantic interest, I mean as a person.
Here is the crux of the situation: Wren is going to be an absolutely fantastic, caring, relentlessly successful person someday. She isn’t that person yet.
(I suppose there is a chance she won’t ever be that person today we’ll be optimistic however and assume she will. She’ll get there, I don’t believe in people who won’t…)
The problem with being in love with a person because you see the potential in them is that they’ll be prone to disappointing you.
(This starts to sound like parenting; maybe I’ve just come to understand my mother’s frustration with me over the years.)
You made the same mistakes (unless you were lucky and simply had some notion of how a person should be) and eventually learned a thing or two about how to be.
I wanted to be there standing next to her when she becomes what I see in her. I don’t know that it is possible anymore.
I can only hold to the hope that I somehow will have helped her get there.
Sadly clarity is a rare thing these days. Most of the time I’m tearing at my wounds, blaming myself for a countless number of things that might not have actually happened and trying to swallow the fact that I have no idea what comes next.