It's not that I don't want to be with you.
It's that we're bad for each other.
I can't trust anything you say, not one thing.
And I'm fairly certain you feel the same about me.

I don't want to /have/ to be my worst self for you to listen.

Leaton had it right, you know. It's just a decision. To be my best - for myself.
To just live.

He's right, you know.
Moving apart would be a final choice.
I am not letting go of something.
What an uncomfortable truth.

I am still so afraid of you.
Why? What is it that makes my heart beat fast in fear, my breath catch, all of my alarms and red flags to go off at once?
At any sign of your displeasure.

I am as attuned to your moods as I was my fathers, as aware and wary.
I will never be perfect in your eyes - why then will I never feel safe with you?

Sometimes I hope you still cry at night too.

I dreamed about you last night. I don't remember most of the details, but it was just you and me, like we used to be.
I felt guilty but for once, not sad.
Is that me telling me something? or it only that living with you means I dwell on the things I would rather run away from?
I can't read into dreams too much anyway, considering the normal insanity of my subconscious I don't blame it for the emotions it may occasionally invoke in me with half remembered imagery.

I am not alone.
But we had something special once. It takes just as much work to break a thing as to make it, I think. And we did a number on ourselves this time.


I miss you.

Just in case you can still hear me, just in case you care or it matters to you,
just in case I never get the chance to say it,
Just in case you didn't know or won't believe me,
just in case you still remember too,
just in case the man I fell in love with is there somewhere,

I want you to know,
You're still the voice in my head.

It doesn't matter now I guess - all these hurts we have caused...
but just in case things never get better,

I'll love you a little bit always.

There's no such thing as an aftermath
I carry all my battles with me. I can walk away from the field, desert from the war,
but I remember what we were fighting about
and until I come to some truth
(which I don't believe exists)
the fire rages on.

It's like trying to put out a fire in the desert - and the people there don't believe in water
because they've never seen it.
I believe in my truths, but are those personal realities worth a war?
Not when I am built to abhor conflict.
So get 'over it' if hiding helps you. If your own demons are so big that you need to recover.
But don't assume that because I'm trying to live my life that I love you any less.

It's like we lived in the same yard for a long time. We worked on the same garden, grew the same fruits and veggies.

And brick by brick I built a wall, because.... I don't even know why. Because I felt like the only way not to always be working on your garden was to have one of my own.
I think.

The things I maybe should say but don't:
Stop going through my shit when I'm not around.
You're making me fucking paranoid and I feel unsafe in my own damn house,
and you're acting like my Dad, which I simply cannot have.

It's like this. We want the same things, and we love each other.
That should be enough.
But until I know that I can un-leash myself, I will be afraid to commit.
Until I know that I can walk away, I will feel trapped, and unable to blame you - knowing that I am trapping myself.

So I am taking a step back. And it is hard, hard to do.
I am afraid to be alone, afraid to be abandoned, afraid of my own fear.

But driving, today, was so glorious, so free, so fun. So much of what /I/ like to do -
it brought me back to myself.

Thank you for helping in that, and I'm sorry that you are unhappy.
I cannot carry your anger anymore.

I would give you anything you asked, even this thing that you ask now -
don't think I haven't thought about it.

I find myself unwilling to be lost in you any longer.

It's my fault we've come to this.
And I am sorry.

Where did I learn this choice that is no choice?
Me or you, always you.

How can I be so convinced that it is the world that is wrong,
when it is my actions that bring sorrow into my life?

I'm so angry about so many things.

Is it worth sorting out?
What's you. what's him, what's me... what's left over from all the mad I couldn't have as a kid.
When did I know I was angry?
I remember realizing, in Arizona... and then again when you let me walk into hope and failure.

But i guess I'm not your responsibility.

I'm mine.
Whose fault is it is I fail?