I make the last weak attempt to get a flame out of these wet matches before my shaking hand lets go, the tiny carton getting a stronger grip of two thin pieces of wood in a cold puddle. My attempts to pick up the pace meet resistance of the sharp needles of water cutting into my cheeks and equally painfully protruding my mind. I am sick of this crying-in-the-rain shit. I am sick of this determined turning-the-other-cheek situation. I am sick of friendship that loses its value faster than the houses on the market. I am tired of being kind for the sake of righteousness, helping for the sake of the higher goal, trying to step over the dirt thrown on my path and looking away for the sake of staying pure inside.
I woke up today and felt like seeing you. I threw on some clothes and ran a quick conversation scenario in my head. It didn’t glue itself together. Nothing with you and me in one sentence makes sense any more. Why would I even bother to show up, to show that I care? I changed back and got to work, which didn’t glue itself together either. I have to get though this on my own. I can not let myself slip, even occasionally.
Can you really befriend a purpose if the carrier of it contaminates its sanctity with his repeated (frequent enough for them to perhaps become intentional) mistakes? I am walking away, my friend, to a place where you, pretending to close your eyes and ears on anything under the top layer of my world, won’t matter. Once again, I am choosing to stay me.
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