Here I am, in the dark, before the sun steals such solitude away from me, and I’m sitting at my desk writing something I almost wrote last night. I’m listening to that song Millionaire. I played it for you a couple summers ago. That songs always made me feel all the bumps and edges of depression and sorrow. I shared that with you. It was never you that made me feel that way, but we got there together. So I’m listening to it again, as I sit here by myself writing letters I shouldn’t write.
That song will always be able take me back to that place, and in turn, back to you. But then again, I don’t know if I could ever sincerely turn my back to you. I vaguely remember the past couple of hours, at best, but here I am. It is almost like blacking out for a while, then you wake up and see your life before you, and then you’re before the altar– and that’s that. Here I am now.
Had I actually wrote this last night, it would have been a subtle, seething and counter-bitter cry for who knows what. It wasn’t that I felt I resented anything about you, but I resent being resented. I hate playing the villain. I know I put myself in that position, and I know a real man takes that role and carries it til the end of his days if he has to, never complaining, never looking behind his back, searching for someone to see that it isn’t just, but what in life is?
With that said, I sit here, in this lightless, gray-colored solitude repeating this song and knowing that I don’t feel that resentment right now. I just miss things. I couldn’t say, at any point, that what I did was wrong, it wasn’t exactly right either, but it was necessary. I still say that in some twisted way, I did you a favor, because I know how cancerous I had become and you don’t need to be a second-hand life victim, but was it worth giving all that up in trade for the entirety of my life?
I don’t know.
I just know that I miss all that was. The other family that I didn’t go and visit enough. My pets, becoming a closet Crimson Tide fan, the lazy days together, the crazy days together, the time apart afterward, the shoulder to offer or the shoulder to cry on. I do, very much, miss you. I never haven’t. It wasn’t until recently that I started to feel the full effects of it all. If you ever read this, hopefully you’d realize this is a good thing. It is my great thawing from that time of cryogenic emotional freezing. I’m becoming free again, maybe I’ll come out of this cocoon as a flourishing, fleeting, flying being and not a mutated carcas. I wish I could make you proud of me again, and not think of me as someone who was, so I hear, bad to you. I know I couldn’t show you that though, even though I’ve started to breathe again, I couldn’t go back to it all yet, this lonely path still has plenty of unwinding left before I can join the rest of the human race.
As much as I yearn and miss everything, to even consider backtracking would be foolish– not that you would have any of it, but in spite of that absolute truth, I just miss that shoulder; both sides of it. I wish I still had that ear that fully understands me, but I am nothing but pure vulgarity to that ear now.
What is more bitter than spoiled love?
Don’t get me wrong, I feel good, and life is great. If I told anyone I’m on top right now it would be truth, but..
I feel like a bum. I’m feelin’ sad like a million bucks.