I keep telling a person the same story. The same incident, the moment when it changed. There are so many other moments that were worse, because then I think you knew, and continued not caring. Just acting, hurting with a purpose, maybe. But the innocent one (or maybe not so innocent), the first the one that tainted the rest of the year is what I tell. So I must ask myself why do I chose that one? I think it's less about you and more about her. She is lesser than me, I need to feel it, to know it. Even if your choice makes no sense, I want others to choose me...to have chosen me. Her one act of stupidity may outshine her accomplishments, some that even I admire. At the end of the day she and I are discarded, both children when it happened. I tell the story, to take that moment away from you...to regain control.
I worry I am becoming like you, shutting people out. They don't belong--fair enough. But I maintained the chatter for months, took time to know what I might be getting into. I communicate in other ways, still.
6 comments:
in a way i understand but it makes me want to know what happened? why must you have the control?
what went wrong?
At the end of the day I'm not sure what went wrong. There are pieces that I am left to deal with and I don't know how they add up. In this way I suppose he has the control.
What control did he have? Choosing me, making me fit into his life some how, friend, foe...whatever.
There were games played, each move confusing me, 'til I no longer knew what choice to make.
I lost my voice. I lost my strength. It's taken awhile to get it back.
is this a lover or a friend?
love interest.
ah it makes sense. i guess they were aware?
That's debatable, although the evidence would suggest they knew at the end.
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