I woke up and asked myself
as if the chick inside me was the one I was simply observing
and I asked her (really)
You know this person is no good for you, can’t come with you, doesn’t want to be with you and on the flip side, you don’t want to be with him, you know its the wrong decision to make, even if he would do it and you’re moving away soon so it’s all quite irrelevant… so why do you spend so much time on it? Why do you write about it and him and let it and him control your moves? Your emotions? Why do you specifically pick something that you can’t and couldn’t have to fantasize about and desire?
And she turned around inside me and said matter of factly
It’s because I don’t have a soul, so when I find something worth craving, I center myself around it, envelop it, set up camp and boundaries for it and lay myself over it like Play Doh. Because it exists, because it’s a thing, I become something too. And ever actually pursuing it and having it, after all of this I have built, would mean watching it change and grow. That means a lot of rebuilding because see I’m nothing; no one, nobody without a ladder to climb, a trellis to branch around- and a changing target, a real human, an actual relationship is not only a give and take but it keeps moving. The fantasy of him, the fantasy of us, the fantasy of this…its a photograph. It’s physical. Its solid. Its as actual as anything else and it can’t lie. So I put it where a heart should be in me. I dance around it because for a while, I feel like an “I” in the first place. You wouldn’t understand. But that’s the truth.
I tried to think of something to say.
This sounds like a choice though… I mean you can literally believe whatever you want. I mean right now you believe that you and I are separate parts of you, talking it itself. If you can wholeheartedly believe that, then why can’t you believe that you’re valid? That you’re somebody? That you’re important and deserve to have real love?
Because she said, because you’re selfish and childish. I know. Even now you’re rejecting that concept. You don’t want to get close to that because you know it’s the core that you keep pretending you don’t have. See, you ignore it. You like playing the victim who has been forced into survival mode. Although that was true once, you can’t let it go. You’ve perfected getting by on self helper’s high. You like telling people that you can’t love them so that you can use them. You like writing about your misery, even though it’s self inflicted because you hope someone else will see what you did and behave differently. But you’ve no lesson to teach if you don’t keep doing stupid shit. If we don’t. It’s who I am. It’s who you are. So I do the things that I have to do to help you keep this shit going. You think you aren’t getting your love, but you are. You’re getting the love you built for yourself. You built a maze and the only thing that could ever be at the center of it, is a dragon, and a castle and a diamond, and a book with your name on it, on a shelf where it seems that you’ve left something important in it for the world after you’ve died, all out of reach, all never to become yours, all a quest. Forever.
I turned my lip up. I hate this bitch. I ain’t talking to her for a week.
I woke up and asked myself