I. NOTHING EXISTS

I remember the astonishment I felt at your interest in me.  I, a lowly worm, you a bird of paradise.  You brought a kind of lightness with you when you came into my life, weighed down as it is by mental illness and a strange kind of consciousness.  Points of light in the darkness; weekends punctuating the months with a kind of joy that is hard to find.  I told you I wanted to occupy the same physical space in the universe as you.

You left something with me when things were still good.  Something you knew, a simple card with the word “YES” written on the front; inside are affirmations that I am loved.  I put it on the table on the top of the stairs, to remind me every night when I went up to bed.  And now I wonder if I should put it away.  You tell me that I’m still loved, but it’s not the kind of love that makes me a priority or makes me feel welcome in your life.

II. EVEN IF SOMETHING EXISTS, IT CANNOT BE KNOWN.

The relationship seemed to fall into place naturally for me.  I felt understood.  We had deep conversations that felt meaningful about politics and society and finding ourselves within the moments that passed.  I felt seen.  At any point of connection I could feel how you felt about me.  Maybe I wasn’t as warm to you?

And I was insecure.  I shrunk myself.  If a text went unanswered, it meant you were annoyed with me.  It meant that my text messages were a burden.  A weight I was tying around your neck; a demand.  I saw myself, instead of making plans together, begging for time.  And I told myself it was a cruelty towards you to feel this way.  My internal dialogue scolded me for looking for ways to manipulate the situation–if I ask for some time while we talk on the phone instead of by text, it will be harder to say no.

III. EVEN IF IT CAN BE KNOWN, IT CANNOT BE COMMUNICATED

I told you recently that I had a revelation of sorts; that I was afraid to want things.  It’s more than that.  I believe, deep down, if I voice my want for something that thing will be taken away from me and the possibility will be ended.  If I want to talk to you then you will stop wanting to talk to me.  And now you don’t want to talk to me.  I remember how I felt the first time you canceled plans with me.  And the first time you told me you weren’t ready to schedule any time with me.  “You still like me though, right?” I asked.  I feel so stupid for not understanding earlier.  

I wonder now if you understand how I’m feeling.  That I am heartbroken.  Cycling.  I haven’t tried to make you aware, but surely you can tell that I’ve had a realization.  That I have spiraled a bit.  There is a cold kind of bitter anger welling in my heart–a small puddle, but it seems important to recognize.  Resentment.  I want you to call me so that I can refuse to accept the call.  This petty bitter anger comes for me too–I want to go live in a cave and punish myself for this failure.  

IV. EVEN IF IT CAN BE COMMUNICATED, IT CANNOT BE UNDERSTOOD

This feeling is hard.  It’s like I’ve been in the process of breaking up with someone for two years.  The hard part, though, is that I have been fighting against myself.  Arguing that this isn’t the case.  “She probably has a lot going on.”  I remember seeing pictures of you at the renaissance faire with other friends on your instagram.  It wounded me.  Why hadn’t you wanted to go with me?  Something from long ago eats at me, “If she wanted to spend time with you, she would make time for you.”  Why doesn’t she want to have fun with me?  A picture of you with short hair pulled the distance that had grown between us into my mind–I couldn’t ignore that you had cut your hair some time ago and that I hadn’t known.  It seemed like something I would have known much sooner just a year before.

At the end of the day the only firmament I had was that I believed I was important.  That I warranted a consideration.  But when we talked about labels and things not practically changing, it seems we meant that the status quo of the long breakup will be maintained.  I had thought it meant we were safe.  And I think back on all the times I have been inconsiderate and wonder, “What if…?”

And I want to be angry that you didn’t tell me.  I imagine your response, “We talked about not being partners anymore.” But when we became partners we said that it wasn’t changing things.  And when you dissolved the partnership, you said that it wasn’t changing things.  And I’m angry that I didn’t realize at the time we were lying to ourselves.  It did change things.  How could it not?  I felt an immediate change when you brought up the idea of being partners with me at some nice restaurant I can’t remember.  I began convincing myself immediately that nothing would change when you told me on the phone that we wouldn’t be partners anymore.  Of course things changed.  And I want you to tell me why.  And I want you to explain your reason why to my satisfaction.  And I want you to justify your explanations.  And I want you to convince me.  

I just want to occupy the same space as you, where our minds might overlap, and then I might know things to the degree I need to know them.