Stop me…if you dare.
For years all I’ve heard is about the plans you make for other people…friends, girls, whatever. The places you go. The things you consider. And time after time, I’ve asked myself…begging to know why it is that you won’t even give me 10% of that…10%. I’d give you my world…yet I’m so conditioned to expect nothing in return. Not even a pathetic lunch date sometimes.
It’s a sad existence…being the girl…who pines after the boy…who will never have her. More importantly, never love her. Not b/c he cant. But he wont. And it’s hard to be the one who listens to the dreams. Who makes her own…knowing they’ll never compare. And so, I won’t share.
Yet I feel like I’ve finally grown up. I feel like we’re so different. We’re both intuitive and expressive when it comes to one another. And so observant and all-knowing when it comes to the ways of the world. That’s perhaps been our bond. But yet…we lead different lifestyles. I’ve realized this, once and for all.
I always admired you for being so secure and effective in enjoying your life, your luxuries, your travels, your youth. I always felt inadequate in comparison…going by…getting thru life without the incredible desire for memorable experiences that you’ve had and grown accustomed to craving.
I felt pathetic, being at your mercy. My every happiness or every despair hanging on you and your treatment of me. No, you never asked for it. But wouldn’t I be far better off having NONE of you than having SOME of you? Sure. You even said…”It’s your decision.” But I’m not that rude or crude or heartless. I can’t do it to you. Yet you’d do it to me…in a heartbeat. I despise you…you know that?
God. I hate you. But anyway…your lifestyle…it’s only now after hearing about the ****, and seeing your pseudo relationship with her…of course, the best friend who also … (of course!)…the connections you acquire, the things you learn. You’re just as gold digging and fake as pathetic little ****… Yet she still has a heart of gold. You…Gosh…what do you have? Someone else’s standards on fabricating your so-called dreams.
I hate you, you pathetic little twit. You arrogant little prick. You selfish jerk.
I know what it is…you always felt like you failed in comparison. Years of not measuring up. (And one day, you decided to become different. To acquire an attitude and passion for life that wasn’t yours…but what you thought it should be. You determined how it would play out. And here you are…years later.
I guess I jumped on board near the date of embarkation…and I’m still here. Watching you. Yet after years of feeling sorry for myself…I finally feel sorry for YOU. For you. For wanting to be who you’re not. To go where you think you should go. To become what you think you should be.
You still get nervous when you try to talk to someone important. Yet when it’s time to reflect…you inflate your chest, you carry your shoulders back and you think you could beat them up with a single glance. Attitude. You’ve acquired attitude and an unwarranted sense of confidence. Eh, it works for you. But you’ll always be you. In your mind you’ll always be struggling to compensate…as opposed to enjoying it for what it is. You’ll always be creating the highs, rather than experiencing them.
That’s the difference between the two of us. I’ve accepted the despair…not as my fate, but as a valuable part of my existence and life experience. You choose not to accept it. But it still exists. And perhaps, you’ll always be empty…b/c you’ll always be in control. You create your destiny. I experience mine. Is one more valuable than the other?
And so this is me…I like my happiness to take me by surprise. I like my spontaneity to be ::gasp:: spontaneous! I like my sadness to carve out pieces of my soul. I also like it when unexpected joy overflows in that very hollow the sadness leaves.
I love it.
Every minute of it.
With or without you.
And so…this is my word…and though you’ll never see it. You’ll never hear it. You’ll never read it. You may never know it. This is it. It is…what it is. And it is the truth, as I see it:
You’ve deprived me of feeling anything for anyone outside of you…for all these years…and I’m unwilling to accept it any longer. I’m unwilling to tolerate it. It is not longer my fate. I no longer pine after you. I no longer desire you. I no longer love you like I think I do.
From today on…you are that same pathetic 17 year old…the one who hasn’t discovered what he thinks he should be. The one who just is. Like me. Just is. The one who dreams of the stories he’ll tell someday. Who dreams of the places he’ll go. But who hasn’t become devious in realizing he has the power to control it.
You’ve controlled it all, and me…for far too long. And I’m hear to say, I’m taking ME back. I belong to me.