untitled 3.0
The moment it happened I knew this angst and pain would fuel my writing. At least there’s a silver lining to this, I thought. A way to cope with unfair love. Unfair in the sense that it isn’t right that the participants in the game of romance are destined to be hurt if it doesn’t work out. And while it may even work, you are still destined to be inflicted with shrapnel to all vital organs. Like with extreme sports and fighting, you’re destined for hurt. The one who is well known or respected had to have gotten there with a significant amount of pain. No competitor of love comes out unscathed either. It’s a bit weak of me to say it’s unfair. But it is true. Not everyone wants to be a professional snowboarder or a UFC fighter. Nor become a shark in the business world. They don’t volunteer for that, they don’t volunteer to get hurt. That’s fair. But everyone wants to find love. Meaning we are all volunteers of pain, whether we want it or not. Therefore every one of us are destined for a world of hurt. Another similarity we all share regardless of our stories.
But the complaint of unfairness doesn’t really concern me. I find it mainly unfair for the women I love to get hurt as I’m okay with being heartbreaken. I welcome it, time and time again. Not too many times. But you get it.
It's unfair that it wouldn’t work with us because I know I wish it did. I know you wish it did. But what’s happened in the past overwrites our future. It’s too heavy to overcome. Unfortunately one bad moment can ruin the entire party, and baby, I’m all out of cigarettes.
It’s a good thing I know myself because if I went against my gut and we tried it out one last time, for good luck, it would eventually end the same way or probably worse. And I don’t want to ruin what we had with something that gets emulsified and sullied with ugly colors like muddy brown and dirt-shit green. I don’t want you fall deeper in the hole with your love for me only for me to trap you inside. You see I have a jetpack on me at all times. While it may take some time to start up, and a lot of my blood to fuel it, I never fail to pick myself up and fly out. But I can’t leave you to your own devices so therefore I’d rather not embark on that journey. I’m the captain and it’s my decision to avoid what I deem necessary to avoid. At least I think I do.
You’d say, Let me decide on what is good for me or not, like the big girl you’d like to think yourself to be. But you know I’ve always been the decision maker. And you know you want me to decide for you, as it’s for the best, even when you may not agree.
It’s your way or the highway. Always! Yes, sweetheart. It is.
So let’s leave it as it is. Dark crimson with streaks of royal blue. And splatters of black.
You may see this as it’s pinned for the next few days. It may pique your interest from the ambiguity of the title. Or me captioning the tweet with, This one’s for you, S. But you probably won’t get here in the nick of time which is for the best. Like that unsent letter you’ve written for me.
I never asked why you didn’t send it. It didn’t need an explanation. I understood.
I forgot that you left your gold earring at mine. With the rainbow colored flower. I’ll hold onto it until I muster up the energy to give it to your doorman. Ill tell him your name and apartment number. He’ll ask for my name and I’ll tell him you’ll know who it’s from.
Love is never a fair trade except looking back, I can’t tell who got the bitter end of the stick. I’m afraid to admit it may have been you. No point in comparing bullet wounds when we’re both fighting for air, though. Take care. And water those plants by your windowsill. The ones you convinced me didn’t need to be watered our first morning together. I’ll look up at your window whenever I’m at that club you know I like to go to. Hoping you treat your next man better. And he’s able to hold onto you longer than I was.
Farewell, sunshine.
