I miss you. I miss you
teasing my childish jumpers, hugging and loving me anyway. I miss the debts I
had to you, the smiles and kisses you were owed. Your cheeky little laugh that
damn near creeped me out the first time I stayed. The experience I imagined you
had but was so glad you lacked. All your firsts. Being in control and being
controlled, taking turns, sharing the load. Watching Dexter and not watching
Dexter. Showers in the dark. Eating baby octopus. The way you told me I was
silly for not wanting to be seen, I was okay to look at, you wanted me, that’s
why you were there. The way you told me not to worry about you. The way you
cared if I was texting when I drove. The way we talked every day, about life,
sex, work, dreams, family, friends, sport, everything. The way we were so open.
I could tell you anything and not be afraid.
Now I am.
I fucked up. This
beautiful thing we had, I fucked it up. I asked too many questions, wanted too
many definitions, had too much fun away from you. I hurt you, and then I hurt
you again and again and despite your saying you didn’t care I knew you did. Yet
for some reason I chose to still hurt you. To keep having fun elsewhere. So
then we were strained and you were grumpy – all the time – whether you admit it
or not. You freaked out when you heard of tears, I didn’t want to marry you for
fucks sake. It’s called a defined relationship – not boyfriend/girlfriend,
husband/wife crap, just a relationship. Rules. Boundaries I know to or not to
cross. You couldn’t give me that. So I got in trouble for asking.
Annoying little teenage
girl.
Paranoia kicks in and
things get worse, problems escalate and I monumentally fuck up. That’s how my
life goes and unfortunately for you, you got tied up with my crap.
So I laid down with your
friend and I whinged about you. I complained about your grumpiness, queried my
attractiveness and my lips were attacked. Initially, I bit back. It didn’t feel
right kissing someone else when all I could think of was you. And I voiced it.
Don’t you feel bad? Why? Because of you. His lips answer no, and my body says
yes to him although my fucked up, drunken mind is screaming no, don’t. It’s
like I’m possessed and even though every part of me knows what I’m doing is
wrong, it’s as though there’s no choice in the matter. There’s pressure, but I
can’t blame. It takes two.
And so yet again my
monumental fuck up fucks up something else. This time it fucked up you, or
anything you ever could have been with me. Whether that’s a friend or more,
I’ll miss it. I already do.
No number of tears will
reverse my fuck up. I’ve tried. They don’t help, they just fall and leave you
empty and exhausted, and still fucked up. Still stupid.
School smarts doesn’t
make me clever and it’s more than obvious I’m far from that. But what I am, is
sorry. I’m sorry every day. I’m sorry every time I wear one of those stupid kid
jumpers. I’m sorry every time I think of Dexter. I’m sorry every time I see
Casellas. I’m sorry every time I think of you. I’m just sorry. I’m sorry
there’s nothing I can do to fix it. I’m sorry I have to miss you.
I’m just sorry.
And for the first time
in a long time I don’t know what to say or if I should say anything at all. I
know nothing but my guilt, my missing, and my fucked up sorry.
28.9.12 ~ The Tainted
