I didn’t want to hurt you

“Imagination fills the void of my existence” -K’s Choice

The darkness does not feel like it fills all the corners of this town, and the brightly bulb lanterns that somebody must recharge on a frequent basis because none of them ever seem dim make this place look like jack-o-lantern’s fun house year long. The structure of the houses is so conservative as if to be speaking aloud. “Yes, I am a buttoned up tie and suit, how could you mistake this for anything else!”

Alex walks the campus obliviously, not looking or wanting to talk to anybody else, not able to read between the lines very well, not knowing he doesn’t know how to read between the lines. His mother spent all the time analyzing social behaviors and it’s not something he’s accustomed to feel a need to do. And anyway, Jack and Bill have built so much street cred over the years nothing will tumble down the social hierarchy without him knowing.

Alex has a face so frank and searching, it hurts to sustain eye contact. All the character is in that striking face, and that nose. He overshadows his own undeniable charisma by letting his locks grow out into a mock Renaissance job.  He looks like a man playing at a fair, playing at being a man, frosted flecks sticking out, he is a man in a costume, some silly costume. All the wrong colors with unacceptable combos and trousers. He doesn’t look modern, but his face is modern, his objectives are modern, you wonder what’s going on there. Is there no character of its own? A mime with nothing to mimic? Fangs with no place to strike..

His eyes only carry your reflection, where is some character of its own? No letting the dark come to him, either- he grabs at you, poking and prodding. You try to achieve life and ACTION!  but instead scorching barbs come, a full elucidation of any attempt at play. Treachery and deceit? One ground is a subtle depression, but no two depressions feel alike, one can always upstage the other. While you can drown in yours, he  flutters like an indulgent bird. You think you know how much farther he can go- how impossibly easy it is for him to get out now- but he doesn’t. That’s the trap. (Maybe you know nothing of his plight. Maybe his next step is deceptively steep and unlike any of the traps you went for. )

You carry and you hold and you bear the burden of his experience, but as your personal therapist points out, they wanted the experience to be good for them… for them, not you…

And now new lies are there- it’s found a way to rupture honor. The timing is off on what he claims he’s said. His lie is an attempt to avoid a fight he fears might happen. What a man!  I don’t tell him that I believe he’s lying because more lies will sprout from his mouth. The self-righteousness at discovery will be there; he will wonder how I knew; the same way my hunches seem so mysterious to him, my understanding into human nature makes him think I should write scripts.

Something inside me sprains, breaks,  I can’t tell, and all the belief I had in this thing doesn’t feel like my favorite feeling. Is he the best I can do? His problems avert helping me see myself or the time, so I don’t think they’ll even care or notice the things that matter, it’s only what matters to them, and I want him to wake up into the person he should be, the person inside that’s real, I want him to wear what he feels on the outside instead of this fake-ness spreading like bad sentimentality, and they call him a broken romance novel.. Girls think they’d love all that attention but in reality they’d find it a bore, the clinginess and neediness and awwws… all that need doesn’t scare me away but his demanding fake cheer turns me off as much as the stale garlic breath does. I’d rather be kissing an ashtray anyday, and I’ve said as much, but who cares if it’s our last night together, only I’m not going to be the one to ruin it, I won’t, I’ll leave that to him, but I won’t tell him, only one of us has to feel the night’s been soured, not both. And he will never need to know the compromises I made because I was trying not to hurt somebody else. Part of me hates that I don’t tell him when I hate it when I am waiting for it to be over and gagging inside at the stench and the grip on my face as if he’s trying to pry open my eyes and tear the skin off my skull.. but I am trying to be a fucking grown up and deal with it by just making them happy for a moment…. I can go be happy later, sometime, I hope, I don’t need instant payoff.. He wants to share it all with me, but I don’t understand how it can be together.. I need my sharing to be done alone, when the chaos slows down, and the meaning repeats in my mind clearly.. But he’s made it seem firm that having things that aren’t in common are so important that I won’t be able to mend the differences… never mind seeing the beauty in the differences… what will I do… Oh, the face I found beautiful is now bleeding me dry… I have done this to myself.. And they no longer shine… What did I do.

All I don’t say (too harsh for you, you’ve already decided I’m tactless, I can’t make it true, if my tentative attempts to keep you from getting hurt already have you whining… then it’s one of those things.) I’ll never tell, I’ll just make the gap between us bigger and bigger… I watch over it to prevent either of us from tripping.. and I try to keep you away from the hole.

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