Stop.

I want so badly to give up the desire.  To end the craving.  I wish I could stomp the hope out like I could a dying fire.  When it hurts like this I want nothing more.  But I know, just like every other time, in a few days the hurt will start to fade.  I will forget how each one of these tears burn as they fall down my face.  I won’t remember the utter emptiness I feel, the depths of alone.  The despair when that hope dies, when the barren solitude returns.  These scars will be healing.  The bruises faded.

In a certain amount of time I will see someone else.  They will see me.  Hope will return.  We’ll talk and I’ll be funny and sarcastic.  He’ll eat it up like I’m his best discovery since his iPhone 4S.  There will be an attraction.  We’ll spend some time together.  At some point he will do something and I will feel the change.  It’s when I realize I care.

It won’t be too long after that when it will happen again.  I don’t know what it will be this time.  Maybe it’s some epiphany he will have.  Maybe it’s some other girl he spies.  Maybe it’s the direction of the wind that day.  Whatever brings it, it will come and I will feel that too, like a shift in Earth’s axis.  It’s when the control changes and suddenly he’s not as ‘there’ as he once was.  It’s not 50/50 anymore.  This is the point when I should stop, cut my losses, and head in the other direction but I won’t.  I will cling to his dying affection as if it’s my lifeblood.

He’ll become a little more distant, I will begin taking the burden on myself.  I will find a reason in my own mind for his behavior and so the battle will begin.  Battles are where I’ve spent most of my life.  So much so that it seems perfectly normal to me.  Expected.  I’m comfortable here.  It’s what I know.

Of course no one is going to love me for free.  I will have to fight for it.  So I bring out that battle-worn armor and I start preparing.  ‘This one I’m going to win,’ I tell myself even though I know in the back of my mind I won’t.  I know how this story goes.  It’s as familiar to me as the battle I’m about to fight.  But I won’t stop.  I can’t.  I don’t know how.  This is all I know.  If I stop they will leave and it’s just me again.

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4 thoughts on “Stop.

  1. Pingback: I’m not dead. « Blogging Back to the Middle

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