PART 1
I often assume that I’m the problem. That I could do more and be better. For you, for us.
But the truth shatters a thick layer of denial. The cause of the chill, the numbness, and then the pain I feel — it’s you.
You don’t care. You don’t think it matters. You don’t think you can be better.
You forget about how you’re connected to the world around you. That the consequences go beyond yourself. You act without thinking, without feeling. You choose to silence empathy. You play dumb. Yet somehow you think you’re humble and self-aware.
Do you know how many times I’ve cried over you? Carried your pain? Felt deeply for you?
You should know. I’ve shown you. I’ve loved you. Consistently and often. Trying to reach you, with good intentions, from glowing to blistering sincerity.
But over time, you shut me out. You made me feel like I was too much or too little. I didn’t matter… Because maybe you felt too much or too little. You stopped being yourself, and you froze. But you could have put a stop to those feelings instead.
Now tears burn my hardening face, as I try to thaw from the rejection of others who have cooly shut out connection.
I grow feverish with anger because we’ve become indifferent to one another. Hope dwindles that we’ll ever melt away the insecurities and open up to each other, to ourselves.
Because there are just so many like you.
PART 2
I thought my innocence could clarify that things could be different. That we don’t deserve to hurt like this. I wasted so much time trying to teach you, to help you. To warm your bones and reignite your heart, your heat. I fought for it. I fought with you. I stood up to it.
As I shake the frost from my skin, I trudge through the darkness, the knee-deep snow. I am pulled toward the blaring light from the window, only to find you at your coldest. Hours, maybe days gone by. Gone.
For you it is over. We made our last connection. The pain of your life lept from your frame into my heart, cracking it open further to fully force it’s way in.
I become aware for the first time that I’ve been carrying this pain all along. It always hurt for me. Except before, there was hope. I could wonder. I could try to heal.
Now it’s just me again, alone. At least I forgave you years ago. By dialing down the hope, forgiveness started the process of accepting the painful truth, the disappointment. But I guess I’m left with honesty.