Bogus Lies (and) Ordinary Greatness
I started, what I call, articlulate writing years and years ago. Some of it was free associate writing, automatic writing, or what ever you chose to call it. It was, and still is, a fun outlet for me. Some of it, no one has ever read before. A lot of it .... maybe nobody should...
Friday, October 14, 2011
A C C U S E D
Alone. I fight my way through the crowd. Loneliness engulfs my soul. Like a grain of sand that blows in the breeze, I, a speck of dust that blows amidst snowflakes. A star, buried in the soil. Fallen.
From the heavens to the sewer. From being free, to drowning in the muck of pity and self-loathing.
I, once a king of love, now watch my castles crumble – ginger bread, all. My heart eaten by the wicked tongue of deceit. Treachery ate at my bones like a cancer, weakening my resolve, distancing me from my feelings. I am the tree in the forest, strong and true, the one always expected to stand, plummeting to the ground with the most fury when I do fall. Crashing to the forest floor for all to hear.
I look at my surroundings, glancing through the crowd. All gathered to see my disgrace, coming here to jeer at me and mock me in my shame. But no, around me I only see a general contempt as I shove past unsuspecting ants, each in their own world with their own worries, and fears. . . and shames. No one has taken notice of my collapse from grace. At least not here. Here they only know me as another face in the crowd. A rude hand in the back as I push my way past. Rushing, always hurrying. Fast to the top, and fast down. Elevator down. Basement? I never knew there was a place so low. At my height I was only held up by a string, and now the cable has broke.
But no one here cares about my fall -- they're only worried about keeping their own lives level. Still... there is one who cares. If only she didn't love me, even after I have taken all her reasons to love me away. I ripped my love away from her, I tore her in half. Now she hates me. I can understand her hate, for I no longer see the thing in me for her to love. I think that all along I must have been fooling her, for there is nothing in me to love -- I doubt that there ever was. My insides are hollow, filled only with air. Breath can only be held for so long. I exhaled, collapsing -- my world fallen in on me, my insides, or lack there of, are exposed. It has been a trick of mine, pretending to be descent. I think that maybe she stills loves the memory of that trick.
I even imagine she would take me back. She loves scum, and I love a fool.
How can I go home to face her when I can't even look myself in the mirror? How can we act as if nothing's happened? How can I put her through the torture of seeing me day after day, knowing of my evilness? How can I face those eyes that will drill holes through my skull with a look of humiliation and betrayal?
I wish she could live without me, I know she would be better off, but I don't think that she's strong enough to turn me away. And God knows that I'm not resilient enough to walk away and have to start allover again. What would be the use? When a seed is rotten, it doesn't help to replant it in new soil. Its only salvation is to be thrown out.
I wish to be strong enough to face her, one last time, to tell her that I love her and that my errors are no reflection on her, but I know I am weak. Much too weak to face myself morning after morning. Much too fragile to take the pain.
But as my elevator of the inside has crashed to the basement of my soul, the "ding" tells me that I have reached the top floor in the "real" elevator.
From the elevator it's a quick exit out to where I can feel the wind at my face. I look down from the rooftop to see the ants below, the ants that I had, just minutes ago, fought my way through, the ones that looked at me indifferently, that didn't know my sins, that wouldn't have cared anyway. I long to make them recognize my pain by landing before their uncaring eyes, but I know that even as I lay at their feet, they will merely step over me, hurrying through their insignificant lives.
There is only one who will care.
There is only one who has cared. Only one who can be hurt by my erroneous ways. Only one brave enough to face the truth, still look me in the eye, and accept me for what I am. I know she careingly waits for me now. Patiently awaiting my return, even after she had every right to throw me out. My reaction to her discovery and confrontation only further proved my cowardice as I walked away without an explanation or apology. She never imagines the hurt that comes from loving me; she never sees it corning. For my truth is a horrible truth of lies and deceit. She gave me her heart, and I thoughtlessly broke it, and now on the edge of reality, the ledge of life, with the wind at my back, I plan to throw it away. Forever.
So to save pain, I will hurt her again. I know it will destroy her. She doesn't deserve to be hurt, and I don't deserve an easy release. The path of least resistance has always been the preferable way for me, and even now, as the wind coaxes me out over the ledge, it is the toughest thing I have ever done to step back.
"I'm home." I know that my shaky voice can be heard by one who was been waiting.
She enters the room after a moment. "So where have you been?" She looks at me with accusing eyes.
T h e E n d .