It is a terrible thing to see the end of something beautiful. To watch a beginning end, a potential being destroyed. Perhaps the destruction is not immediate. Perhaps it will not happen today, tomorrow or even next week but one of the tomorrows yet to come will bring agony, and sooner than I would have expected that pain to be borne.
There is no reason to go into specifics. No reason to linger upon the cause, it is there, it is unavoidable and perhaps it is my own fault for being who I am; feeling as I feel. I wish there was some way for me to be someone else for a while, to do the thing that seems easy and avoid a particular pain I see tumbling toward me. That easy, though, comes with its own pain, and perhaps, likely, a greater pain in the end. An unjustifiable pain that I realize to be so, an avoidable pain if I am strong enough to be true to myself and not give in to my desire to be someone else, the one he wishes I could be.
And upon thinking of this impending disaster, one that may only be averted through luck (of which I have none good), I wonder if it is better to lose someone who you love slowly or to have them wrenched quickly away. I don't want to lose this person; I have never loved as I love them. I will, though, it seems no matter what choice I make. For if even I were to be this other person I would not remain her forever, and if I did how can I think she would be someone they would care to know, that I would care to know either? For she would be a false being, an imitation of the real; all of us deserve better than an imitation.
and then again... even if mercy intervened... I now have knowledge I did not possess before. A little less innocence, a little less luster in my soul. And maybe there are many reasons for this but among them are the knowledge that I have trusted blindly, and beyond what I should have, that happiness is elusive and perhaps unattainable to one such as myself, that I am maybe not enough (not enough what I don't know) to have or keep the love of someone I love, that hope is perhaps a thing I should relinquish and instead grasp a reality, no matter how it breaks me apart.
Yes, this is a pity party, I hate having them. They are unproductive and useless in the end, but maybe I feel sorry enough for myself to indulge in this for a little while. In a series of disasters, spanning three decades and more, I have mostly denied myself this right... I have mostly seen myself as strong enough to not need such uselessness and resented the pity of anyone else. Now, though, I do not know how strong I am. I don't know if I can face this loss, this pain, this tragedy, with the tenacity I've always been known for. I don't know if I can pull up my bootstraps and get to work, or if there will be a silver lining somewhere in the distance.
I always have held on to the hope that one day things would work out for the best. That I would find happiness, a secure happiness, and live a life I could love. Right now I doubt that this is true. Right now I think that maybe I was just meant to be unhappy, to lose everything I ever care about, to be alone, to be unloved, to only have consolation from the art my sadness inspires.
People may not like to hear such things, but this is not an uncommon lot among artists. Many of us are consigned to hell for a life, creating joy for others out of a suffering and cruelty we cannot escape or overcome. And what scares me here is that this pity party is not depression induced, these are not the empty feelings of grayness and despair, but the hopeless meanderings of reality that will not allow me to ignore.
I thought, for a while, that luck had finally found me. Luck has deserted me once again, and I am even more miserable having finally tasted her. For I know what I am losing, what I will lose, and I know it is irreplaceable and a tragedy beyond recovery. I could never find something like this again, I think, for he is so perfectly made for me that no one else can compare to his fit in mind, in body and even in soul.
And maybe he does not want to leave, he says so, but that will not make a difference in the end. In the end I will be alone once more, more alone than I was ever before because he will take my heart when he walks away.