I wonder what to say, now. I don’t know how to address you, or what to tell you, or how to close a single conversation. How sad is that, really? I don’t even know the proper way to leave anymore.
Do you remember when leaving was the most natural thing in the world, when coming back was inevitable? It was routine, good-byes were nothing but a smile to take with you at night to keep you company while you were asleep. They came naturally, gracefully, affectionately. I remember looking forward to goodbyes. They implied little besides a hope of return, and, maybe closer to the end, even love.
Now, they are not natural, hopeful, graceful, or affectionate, and my definitions of love are being mercilessly edited and rewritten. Goodbyes are another excuse to stumble over myself, to force out a few words and sprawl flat on my face one last time before I can escape. Every time one of us leaves, I don’t know if you’ll come back. And worst of all, I don’t know if I will be strong enough to return, myself. If I can handle being brushed off again. If I can stand up again, recite my lines, pretend to be in character whenever I act the part, pretend I am not furious and in pain and exhausted from the effort of keeping this mask held in front of my face, of standing tall even when thousands of pounds of armor are crushing and compressing my bones into powder.
I can’t carry this weight anymore. But deep in my gut, I’m still afraid that it’s the only thing holding me down, and that if I leave it behind, I won’t know what could be worth staying on the ground for. I don’t want your apologies anymore. I’ve stopped accepting them, not because I hate you but because lies have done so much damage now that we don’t need to put up any higher walls. Better for them to break and for the rubble to form pathways to someplace different. I will never help you rebuild them. I will not enjoy the flavors of late nights, or December breeze underneath the cool bark of willows in a picnic ground, or kitchen conversations without words anymore. But I can’t forget.
you may tire of me as our december sun is setting cause I’m not who I used to be