telling – a final throwback

by epi

a 2 feb 2009 post. a quick comment, when you’ve been alive as long as i have (yep-in my world, 22 is like living forever), you make mistakes, those are not the point. they never should’ve been, but sadly, i’m only recently learning this. the point is the forgiveness, and the survival. and the people.

afterwards, i’d like your thoughts, have you ever survived a mistake? has anyone ever chosen to love you in spite of your flaws? and then, have you ever noticed that forgiveness always comes at a price?

Actual Post:
i told him. & hung up the phone. to see if he would call me back. i knew he would. but he paused. this, looooooooooooong pause. this, me (car on cruise), eyes on the road because i can’t bear to look down and see the black space on my phone where his name should be, pause. this, i think i know heartbreak finally, pause.

&finally he called me back. said only [nothing]. until i, afraid of what his silence meant, choked out “hey…”, and he said, [nothing]. He left this,
pause
so
long
i
had
to
ask
him
if
he
was
still
there.

i jumped when he finally spoke… “yes”. but nothing else. and the way he said yes… i wondered if maybe he meant no. and then he paused again. i knew enough not to ask, this time.

i wanted to talk, but those pauses muted me. these pauses weren’t just lack of sound, but lack of, anything. i didn’t know where sound (or even form) had gone. his pause, i think, turned my world off. (onedayhemighttellme that my words turned his world off, or shook it up, or…) i just kept waiting for him to speak, not sure what i needed to hear, or what he needed to say… but i’m sure, he would’ve liked for me to take back those words, but before those words, those actions, those things.

later, he said “okay”. he changed the subject and filled my silence with his words, (i think i might finally understand “empty words”). he moved the stench of carelessly smoked clove cigarettes aside to fill my car with empty words made sharp by their hollowness. he piled them around me trying to bury something i only wanted to expose.

(i can still feel those empty words, sharp and hollow, pushing themselves into me. i can’t decide if they never left me, or if they come back, every second, like panic, but worse, because, this… hurts. like the thought of the lack of him. because it is about the lack of him. like it is about the fear of the things i’ve given him, wondering where they go, when he does. if he gives them back, or casts them off… or keeps them, even though they’re mine. and then more, even more than the things i’ve given, the things i haven’t. the things i haven’t said. where do those things go? where does potential go? to someone else? upon his leaving i mean.)

we changed then. even he felt it. said… “you’re different than before”. i still wonder what he meant, but i was afraid to ask… & now i’m afraid to know.

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