I feel overwhelmingly sad at the uncalled for heartaches that compile life. I feel like everywhere I turn I’m making a mistake, disappointing someone by being less than I should be, by being less than I could be. Perhaps the only person I’m disappointing is myself, but I sure as heck don’t think I’m making anyone proud. I’m not very sure of what to do with life, usually, but I’m even less sure the older I get. The more pain I live through, the more tears I cause, the more my heart pours out onto a blistering, silent sidewalk.
I am so overtly aware, constantly, at how unusual my life is, and was, and will be, so uncontrollably anxious about the dizzying reasons why the world is. I hate more than anything, watching the people I love experience the gut wrenching, stabbing, torturous agony that makes up this world, but even more unbearable is the affliction of indifference. I get so angry that I have to feel all my own wounds, that I have to look at all of my scars, physical and metaphorical, for the rest of my life. Even more upsetting is the fact that I have to feel the misery around me.
When you cry, my ribs break from your heaving sobs. That flash of disillusionment behind your eyes, the twinge of perceived failure is enough to rid me of every teardrop in my entire body. And I wish more than anything that I could believe your words when you tell me that you’re okay, while your insides are so clearly screaming to be let out. I want to set you free, because the alternative is to crawl inside that tiny, unlivable cage beside you, while we make believe that we’re anywhere but. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that there is no going back to “the way it was before.” Because, as the saying goes-“it was” and is no more. When I look into your eyes, my insides tremble. It’s as if every fiber of my being is feeling everything that you once were to me, and never will be again.
There was a time when you had begun to embody safety, but the shadow you cast was always pure danger, the blackness as deep as eternal night. I’ve always wanted to save you, to make you see the goodness in your soul, to make you believe in the sunshine. But I’ve felt you so deeply that I’ve always been attracted to the shadows. Chased them, pursued them. I have made the shadows, and the explanation of their caste my business.
I wish that I could believe you when you say that you care for me, but I don’t know how to comprehend an affection so neglectful and so encumbered. I hope that by now, after all the pain I’ve witnessed and felt for you, with you and because of you, I hope that by now I would know that your indifference has less to do with me and more to do with your attachment to your own shadow; that insurmountable, dark devil, taller than a building and smaller than a dime, depending on the position of the sun, but always, always right on your heels. He’s there to remind you where you come from, to provide perspective on your relative, and highly subjective position in this world. He is not made up of your shortcomings, not entirely at least. He is compiled of your Cimmerian self, the part of you born into that helpless abyss, and all the parts of you who have since chosen to abide there. And when my darkness meets your darkness we have the capacity to create a tremendous, unscrupulous, black hole with our shadows that would swallow the both of us whole.
But I’m asking you the same thing I’ve always asked of you, and that is— instead of allowing our starless shadows to devour us both, instead let us come into the light. Let us not erase our shadows, for they are forever a part of us, but rather, illuminate them, brighten them up, so that perhaps we can unveil the beauty. I’m asking you to face your darkness, to look into the onyx shade and to soften your self to the pain, and the hurt, until it begins to quiet down. Not because it’s extending it’s reach, but because you’re excavating its depths, diminishing the darkness.
It takes courage, dear one, to abandon your apathy, to become sensitive to the wretchedness that so often makes up our lives. But when we do, we also become photosensitive, we begin again to see in color. I’ve always seen the glimmer in your eyes, but when we face the sun, you are luminous. I am weary from experiencing your heartache, I am weak from trying to face the world alone, for you, for me, for everyone. But when I see that flame in your eyes, I know all at once that you are incandescent. In my vision for you, you are dazzling as your opacity falls away, and your shadow walks with you into the soft glow of the morning haze. In my dreams you are brave and you are radiant, and you feel as deeply as your shadow once was, because you have dredged up your pain, and burned it away with the fire in your eyes and the passion in your soul, you are beaming, bright as the noon day.