Somebody That I Used to Know

Sometimes we become the people we’ve always hated. Sometimes we change ourselves and see no recognition. At times we love with all of our hearts and get that love back. And at times we don’t deserve that love. And at times that person doesn’t deserve our love. Love is as much cruel as it is kind. It is both beautiful and ugly. It can lie and trick and deceive but it can also be the best thing to ever happen.

This is about love:

I wish with every ounce of me that I could hate you. I wish that the part of my brain that has always been able to shut people out in the past, would somehow function when it comes to you. But there is nothing I can do. My brain works on overdrive all the time. I wonder if other people feel the way I do? A song can break my heart. A painting can make me fall in love. It’s like a shiver. How I feel. When something hits me, it impacts me. I can’t remember a name from a face I met two seconds ago. But I can remember sentences from strangers that made me cry. I can recall exactly what my heart felt in every moment where tears hit. It hurts sometimes. I feel so much it hurts. Not like a bruise or even a scrape. Like a fucking wound. If an ocean wave could fire a gun shot that is exactly what I feel.

But back to you. I do actually in a way hate you. But I do in more than one way see myself in you. We all hate parts of ourselves. I hate the part of myself that is you. It does me no good to give a shit about you. I know, because you couldn’t give a shit to show that you do. Yet I know you do. So I’m ok with it. But just a little bit.

I forgot to shut the part of my brain down that allows things to permeate. If it’s off I can leave. I can forget you, and her, and them. I won’t even blink an eye. I’ve done it before. I’ve been you. I’m sorry. Being young is a blood sport. It’s a testament of our natural fear of death that their aren’t more suicides.

Sometimes the best treatment for something is to leave it alone. You can get shot, and the doctors will leave in the bullet. Saying removing it, will actually do more harm than good. You are that bullet. You pierced me; I opened up. I shot you back; you retaliated with tears. Real, human fears. You let me in because you had forgotten to pull your gate down. I knew you wouldn’t be more than a second. A breath in my timeframe of love. Yet I let it happen. Like whiskey I drank you, and like whiskey you felt good, and like whiskey you felt bad, and like whiskey in the end you are a poison. But like that bullet left in a soldier you can stay. Scar tissue will grow over you. But. You can stay.

We are all victims of our past. We are all too scared to really feel. Skin a peach. It suddenly looks like raw meat. Skin your own memory it is as raw as that peach. No not everything about the past is bad. Good times were had. But those moments that crushed me, Jesus do they have to happen again?

You can’t breathe under water. But you can hold your breath. You can look at a sea world you aren’t a part of, but you are just visiting. That is how I felt the entire time I was with you. I was holding my breath. I just never thought it would take me so fucking long to resurface.

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