Broken Battles

I have been afraid.

The day it all came crashing down, I was forced to step back and to try to take a more objective look at the situation—the control of which had long since escaped my grasp.

I remembered, then, what it was like when this whole thing began. How you texted me constantly. Called every chance you got—after shows, in airports, from the store. And if I took too long to respond, you were quick to ask "Where'd you go?" Or to accuse, "You left me!"

At the time, I took it in stride. I did not know what to make of the situation, or of you. I tried to not read too much into it, not to take it too seriously. Especially when you said things like "I'm a little obsessed…" Or a million other little bits of things you said—things I wanted to believe you meant, and would not allow myself to.

But your attentions made me smile in spite of myself—made my heart laugh.

And sitting at my desk that day, staring dully at my silent phone, I found myself wondering how we got from there to here. From you pursuing me, to me becoming this pathetic, distracted, useless thing. From me thinking your "obsession" was cute and silly, to me being hurt and saddened that you no longer feel the same. I sat there, wishing that you would text, or call, or otherwise contact me in some way…

And I wondered how you did it. How or where you had found the strength and self-control to not contact me. Where was that strength and self-control in you before?

And all I could think was that none of it mattered. It didn't matter what was Before. Because the moment we were in was Now and not in Before. And in this moment, Now, there was me, who could not resist contacting you—always, always telling myself that this time would be the last time—and there was you, who hadn't slipped up once; had not once been the first to break down and reach for me, needing to know I was still there.

It occurred to me, then, that it simply is not possible that you feel the same about me as I do you. If you did, you would not be able to resist. If you did, you would long for me. If you did, no other's touch would satisfy you. If you did, your decision would already be made…

"And so", I thought, "I will be the one to end it." I would do what you could not. I would be the one to do the right thing—to take back control, and to end this madness. I would be the one to extinguish Hope. I would be the one to let go...

And so I told you to forget you ever knew me.

And why not? It should be easy enough. You are mostly there already—only reminded of me now and then because I insist on inserting myself into your life; because I refuse to leave you in peace.

But there will be peace now.

I clung to you because I was afraid that if I let go you would forget me—never realizing that it was not my battle to fight, and therefore one I could not win.


Original post date: 12.22.2008