The nights pass by, slowly creeping one after the next. Like a tapestry telling the sad tale of what once was. And the tease of forever what could be. One panel will be filled with sadness. Another with sighs weaving with relief and wanted relent. Some also accompanied by hope. But most of its story is dashed with a doubt and regret. Another nights passing and it is colder than usual. Calmer than normal. A storm lay thicker. I still only think of you and it’s come to the point where I’ve begun to dream of you too. Is there no where I can go to rid myself of the torture? Sleep was my escape. The furthest point from you. Now I see your face when I don’t mean to. I’ve been scared and now I’m hurt.
Every night for weeks, everyone that knows him has told me the same thing; His actions are his answer to your questions. Whether he wants you or not. His silence should be enough. And maybe finally it is. The silence is enough to let me know that you really don’t care for me. But then why do you keep coming back? After a few days and nights you come back charging through my life. This is my chance to keep up with you again. I have to try. I fail and it all continues for months longer. Years go on. And I’ll tell myself I’m thankful for them. What a fool I am.
Josh said I’d never cry. I don’t cry. I can’t. I’m not that type of person. And I haven’t for him. Not a tear. But for him. Some nights I just can’t stop welling up with no fluid outcome. I want to cry, but I can’t. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe he hasn’t hurt me enough as of yet. Maybe I’m the one hurting myself by keeping up the game. Maybe it all doesn’t matter. It’s just another slogging night passing me by. Another precursor to the following day that bears no happiness either. Actually, it might be a day where he says hello. So you never really know.
Night again. It’s not even dinner time. But I’m generalizing now. This whole chunk of the day is now night time. I lay there off and on like keeping my energy in shifts. I know and contend with myself; his actions are his answers. His silence is his answer. His default position is to hurt you. So for the night. Maybe I can think of something else to do. Instead of ruminate dread and elongate my pain. Nights turn to weeks. Weeks into months. Eventually they all turn to the years I’ve spent caring for you with nothing to show for it in return.
Not even a “Hey, Mark.” Well maybe after another night. Just one more night. One more week. One more year. It’ll all be over. —it’s all over. —It’s been over. —Why can’t I just give up?