A Field in Which to Frolic**

Get out of my dreams; get out of my heart.
October 7, 2015, 10:29 am
Filed under: Undisclosed

Forget you; I wish I could

It’s been over two years since we’ve seen each other, and in that time we’ve barely spoken at all. Yet, I dreamed of you all night last night and I woke with sickness in my stomach and an ache in my heart.

I dreamed I was doing my best to avoid you, but you found me. You stood there, silently asking me to stop running and hear you out. In your hand was the letter I sent; the one to which you couldn’t be bothered to respond. It turned out that it wasn’t that you didn’t want to respond, it was that you still hadn’t figured out what to say.

I dreamed she didn’t mean as much to you as it appears. That you missed me, and you still saw possibility for us. That you wanted to spend time with me, even when she was around.

Don’t let this give the impression that I believe any of that to be true. Knowing its non-validity is what makes the dream so awful. Why does some part of me cling to the hope that one day, things will be different? Why does that part of me still believe everything you said to me; everything I felt for you?

It’s time for an eviction notice

I don’t want to hold on to hope any longer. I don’t want to wish for something that will never be. You’ve taken up residency in my heart too long. I’d like that space to be clear for someone else. But at this point, it seems in there you’ll always live.

I wish I would have never met you. I wish I never would have known the intensity you stirred in me. You changed me. The possibility of anyone other than you is now exceedingly diminished. I could have been happier with less, had I never known such an extreme was possible.

There’s a part of me that hates you. I want to scream the things at you I’ll never get the chance to say. How dare you stir such feelings in me? How dare you open all of that up, then walk away as if none of it ever mattered; as if I never mattered? How is it so hard for me to forget you, when forgetting me came so easily for you?

Letting me believe – encouraging me to be believe – that you cared about me was a cruel thing to do. If you just wanted a little bit of fun, you should have been clear. Because now, thinking of you carrying my suitcase around the market so we could have a little more time, or wrangling everyone off of that windy rooftop and into the warmth of the bar because I alone was cold, hurts me in a way I can barely describe. It’s the same sickness and ache that I felt after waking from the latest dream. It’s the torturous mourning for what could have been, knowing that it will never be.

Since I can’t summon a crossroads demon…

I would give just about anything for things to be different between us. Being with you would be my genie’s wish, my demon’s deal, my blood-stained sip of wine. In the absence of any of those things, I’d take a visit from the Lacuna technicians. Let them take every last glimpse of you from me: your hands on my hips, the taste of your mouth, the feel of your breath on my neck. Rip from my mind your bullshit puzzle-piece analogy, your sad confession of what love means to you, and the significance of that god-damned Gasoline and Matches song. Please, take it all away.

I imagine that if you ever read this, you’d pity me for believing that it meant anything to you. “How sad,” you’d think, “that she made so much out of something so insignificant.” And I hate you for that. For living your life now as if nothing ever existed between us. For turning me into “just another girl,” when you’re transcendent to me. All I can hope is that one day indifference to the memory of you will find me, and I will finally let you go.


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