no time for mourning

7 words you can't say on television

It’s been a few years since I came to know the truth. It didn’t take long to admit it to myself. On Sunday evenings, I’m walking under the scaffolding of a new building on the northern part, and I see your group. Not a dull moment, eyes focused, smiles wide, booze in your system, muscles sore from all the walking. And you pass me by, except for when you don’t. Except for when you tell me I’m hot, and beautiful, and fun, and kind. And you hug me tightly, almost as if you don’t want to let me leave to catch the train. Almost as if you care about me, almost as if you’re happy to see me. I find it hard to believe. So I try harder, I dress better, I groom myself impeccably, hoping to match your usual tastes. I act, even when I’d rather rest. Last Sunday I let myself show you how vulnerable I am, to which you darted a gaze of disapproval. I really want to go back most days. Go back to when I hadn’t fallen for you yet. It was pretty instant. Hell, everyone at the party fell for you. There isn’t much the average person can do against those eyes. Hell, could I even have prevented anything? My back hunches with every thought of you disliking me and then I forcefully snap it back into place, but, it never lasts. I hope I find something that lasts someday.

Mother asked to text beforehand, asking if we could call. I took the phone too late, her snide remark right off the tip of the tongue like light acid rain. I caught myself thinking that I was acting like you. And how different could I be from you, if this is how I freeze when things need to get done? And how much better am I from you if all I can do when stuff fails is deject? Yes, I loathe what you did to me. I also understand why you had to do it. I was so afraid of showing her my hair, and I got this hair just yesterday, hoping you’d like it. Maybe you’d like it. Part of me wishes Eva brought you with her as a surprise, as a way of saying “here you go, guys, take this one from here, I know ya’ll just needed a push”. But Eva won’t do that, and you won’t do that. And I’m refusing to accept it everyday. It’s a struggle really, not having you in my life anymore. I hear of your adventures and my heartbeat quickens, my oxygen drops and my lungs shrivel like smoke and there’s no more controlling my facial expressions after. I always wondered what grief looks like. I kinda understand Franco now. I see through Carla. I get everyone around me now. Everyday I hear a whole lot of bullshit and a lot of it is advice. Advice I wish I could take, if it wasn’t for the fact that I despise whoever is giving it.

So why don’t I just…reach out?