I wish this were my fault.
I wish I were the one who did something wrong. I wish there were a lesson in the mistake of action to learn here, because then, this would be easier to understand. I could review each wrong step or motion, replay it until I understood the error, and then correct it. It doesn't matter how many times I play this movie because there isn't anything to look at, I watch myself keeping up with things, I see myself realizing the phone got a little quieter for longer periods, I see myself trying to remain calm, rationalizing, listing off reasons that I knew were valid but didn't take away the sting, and I see myself taking back what I handed over gladly with a grudging resignation. I see my proud shoulders droop in an emotional rain in my head.
Has anyone else ever felt that way? When you aren't the person in the dynamic that grew out of it, or got bored, or found someone or something that spoke to them more, or when it just didn't click anymore for the other person. Do you wish it were the other way around, because then the blame would be easier to place on your shoulders? I am finding it incredibly difficult to accept that I blame someone for failing me, whom I looked up to like a god in my universe. How do I even reach those shoulders to distribute the weight? Because you didn't even fight. You didn't try. You stared at me in silence, with nothing else to say. You couldn't even try to at least soothe me, fuck!
I would have taken the breadcrumbs and been happy, even leaving them still. You left me with no real explanation, no true apology, no ownership of your actions. As if that would have kept me hanging on, if only for those things, waiting to see if you would give them to me eventually. Not even that, which is better than if you had, but it hurts a lot more. So now, in my head, I have to kill the god and see the man.
This is a lovely fucked up mess I've found myself in.... Grateful, and bitter, and angry, and sad, and confused, and disappointed, and it's all wrapped up inside this skin that crawls as the mind runs. What's worse is that it's not the memories, but the future that will never live now, playing in my mind in the dark, at 2 am when I can't sleep. When I wake and it all comes back in to my small slice of paradise in the world.
I wonder, do martyrs ever feel conflicted in their choice? Is there a moment when they realize they can never go back, that their god is watching them do this in his name, and that all they have for confirmation is faith?