Sometimes I want to taste, but then don't know what I'm saying
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you love me."
"I don't love you."
"But you want to love me."
They say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but at times I've felt very, very weak. Weakness is something I hate. Ever since I escaped, I promised myself I'd never be weak again. Perhaps I confused weak with vulnerable from then on. I was vulnerable with those I didn't know. Refused to be vulnerable with those I did. People harden themselves when they don't know how to be vulnerable. Not necessarily in the ways you might expect.
"So, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you want to love me."
"So?"
"So, you don't want me to love him."
A question raised raises doubt in the mind of the one asked. Do I know what I want? I do, I've known all along. But someone else not knowing makes knowing more difficult. Sometimes long after. When the questioner finds the answer themselves, they're content. The one who was asked? Maybe not knowing where the question came from, maybe not having though the question over, rolled it across their tongue, felt it in their hands- maybe that means the question will sneak up on them for months to come.
"You don't love him."
"I do love him."
"Don't you want to be more than just content?"
"Don't you want to stop waiting for something more?"
One eye always open. I guess that was how I was, how I felt before. Now it's the other way around. I'm focussed, focusing in because I know (and always have known) that things can't last forever, no matter how they end. But it feels like the one who focussed in on me, who gave me undivided attention, is now looking to the distance. Life looks better when you look away, but I guess the question is, what part of life looks better when you look away?
"I can't come."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't do it again."
"Yes you can."
Should is a really strange word sometimes. People ask you to figure out you want, what's best for you. But sometimes what you want isn't what's best for you. Perhaps in our hedonistic age, people have lost sight of that. They want in, they want out, they do what they want. But desire is fleeting. I don't know what you'd call actions. But actions can be consistent, constant. Not that they always are. Sometimes should might be for the best; sometimes should is for the worst. We tend to all agree that good is better than bad, but sometimes it's hard to know what's what.
"Because you love me."
"I don't love you."
"But you want to love me."
They say that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but at times I've felt very, very weak. Weakness is something I hate. Ever since I escaped, I promised myself I'd never be weak again. Perhaps I confused weak with vulnerable from then on. I was vulnerable with those I didn't know. Refused to be vulnerable with those I did. People harden themselves when they don't know how to be vulnerable. Not necessarily in the ways you might expect.
"So, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you want to love me."
"So?"
"So, you don't want me to love him."
A question raised raises doubt in the mind of the one asked. Do I know what I want? I do, I've known all along. But someone else not knowing makes knowing more difficult. Sometimes long after. When the questioner finds the answer themselves, they're content. The one who was asked? Maybe not knowing where the question came from, maybe not having though the question over, rolled it across their tongue, felt it in their hands- maybe that means the question will sneak up on them for months to come.
"You don't love him."
"I do love him."
"Don't you want to be more than just content?"
"Don't you want to stop waiting for something more?"
One eye always open. I guess that was how I was, how I felt before. Now it's the other way around. I'm focussed, focusing in because I know (and always have known) that things can't last forever, no matter how they end. But it feels like the one who focussed in on me, who gave me undivided attention, is now looking to the distance. Life looks better when you look away, but I guess the question is, what part of life looks better when you look away?
"I can't come."
"Why not?"
"Because I can't do it again."
"Yes you can."
Should is a really strange word sometimes. People ask you to figure out you want, what's best for you. But sometimes what you want isn't what's best for you. Perhaps in our hedonistic age, people have lost sight of that. They want in, they want out, they do what they want. But desire is fleeting. I don't know what you'd call actions. But actions can be consistent, constant. Not that they always are. Sometimes should might be for the best; sometimes should is for the worst. We tend to all agree that good is better than bad, but sometimes it's hard to know what's what.
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