Comming to Terms

This is who I am. The underlying emotion no one ever sees. The destroyed vacant heart, filled with a million shattered feelings. This is how I feel. Smooth, with ruff edges, sharp to the pressure but bald to the abstract touch. This is how I see. Black and white with gray in-between. This is how I taste. Bland, plain, no after thought. This is how I sound. Empty, dried up, hollow and scorched. This is how I hear. Monotone quietness. This is how I smell. An old building that’s been deserted for decades.
I say this not as a plea for remorse, but as an explanation for my emotions.  See I sit on this huge heavy boulder, that itself rests on this tiny little stick.  All my life the boulder has been balanced perfectly, no swaying back and forth, and no cracks or groins of agony from the stick supporting it.  But in a moment, the stick was smashed, destroyed, becoming non-existent, as I burst and blow; the boulder becomes a large balloon that forced out all of my insides. Everything I hid, everything I fealt, every ounce of pain, anger, failure, frustration, hatred, loneliness, betrayal, loss of trust. It all comes out at once. And in a moment it is done. Every ounce of pain I could infuse in anyone was exerted. Every ounce of unnecessary hurt was delivered. I blew.
I was once such a nice, happy kid. With my ambitions high, and my lips a smile.
But I have become an empty whole.  Two sides of a nine-sided dice. One huge failure after another. And then every tiny thing started going wrong. I became me. The person writing these words is not I, for I am his interpreter. Writing in his eyes though, I know all.  For within me is him. He stands; broken now, look at him, one large mess.  His eyes wont glisten and his teeth wont whiten, his heart wont beat and his head wont think. He has become a robot, something not of his own power, but that of the power of someone else. And while his power belongs to someone else he refuses to see, the power IS from himself, he just is too stubborn to notice.  He writes poetry; hilarious as it may be, he is horrible at it. He loves a girl, as depressing as it may be, she does not love him back
For he is himself. But at this time someone else. She fell in love with him when he was, in fact, himself, but now portrays the aspects of someone he never knew. Someone he always feared would come.  It is me.  I am this image he displays, I am the words he writes, I am the feelings he feels, and refuses to feel. I am his light and his darkness. His smiles and his tears. His hate and his love. His black and his white. The snow and the sun. the sand and the dirt, the air and the poison. The imprisonment. I own him.   He is mine, not only is he mine, but he is me, as I him.  So it all makes sense now.  While the nine-sided dice tumbles, only two sides will ever show.  Only will his anger and his love show. For he knows nothing else.
He was once, carried, in the arms of love. It wrapped itself around him, around us.  He had found something worth waiting for, not only that worth loosing himself to the darkness for. He found the girl he loves so deeply, and cannot change. He is stubborn yes… but smart? Stupid? I do not know. I wish I did. I would tell him. He has waited so long to find the one he can really love. To find the one he can really be with, talk to, smile with, laugh with, dance with, dream with…. Love with… he found her. And now she feels nothing for him. He is but a distant dream she once thought she had. And she to him is his daily fantasies, the dreams that distract him from normal life.  The loneliness he dreads every moment he is awake. The endless train of thoughts running through his head at night. The dark that envelops him, and the light that develops him.  She is the air he breathes and the sun he sees. She is everything to him. But this is not fair. She is so much to him and he nothing to her. He places his burdens of love, life, happiness and dreams on her back, and she carried them for the longest time. But no more. He is merely just a memory. A friend that tries too hard. An ex-lover that wont let go, but must. For not only his happiness’ depends on it, but hers, he drags her down. He is not enough for her, as he is not enough for himself.  I pity him. He dreamed so big, and tried so hard, but unlike all fairytales his princess would not be saved. She would be someone elses. Or no ones at all… just not his.
An emotionless man.
A stubborn, hard headed dreamer, who only sees night mares these days
He is, as he was, never the same.
In defense of him, he wasn’t “wrong” to do what he has done, yes he has made mistakes but we all do.  He only loved, and wanted to be love, and wanted to make her happy. He wanted nothing but the best for her, he gave her all he could, and when that wasn’t enough he gave her everything he had.  And in return he only asked for love, respect, loyalty, and trust.  He wanted to be the perfect man, but became what he is now. Nothing.
So when the boulder fell, and smashed, and spewed every ounce of his emotions on the floor, he became who he is now. Me. He became a lifeless image, of a man who was once known as Adam.  But no longer, he has become me.  I stand for nothing, I stand for who I could be but shouldn’t. I stand for him, because, I am him after all. This boulder, this emotional boulder that held everything from the moment he knew what anger was, it was too much for the stick. The stick was nothing.  And when the stick crumbled, the world came with it.  Every ounce of anger was thrown; every tiny detail was thrown askew. Every dream was a nightmare, every smile was a frown, and every eye was lined with tears. He hurt her. He hurt himself. He hurt me. She had no reason to even speak to him after that. I am still surprised she did.  But now, the two of them, are separate. No longer connected by the strong sense of love, but bound together by an attempt at friendship, that will never be advanced. He curses himself every night, and lays awake in anguish. His own two hands have destroyed his heart. And no one will fix it. It doesn’t deserved to be fixed. He sits, an empty man, trying to be all he should, but fails to do it. Trying to be all he could, but fails to do it.  He is nothing. And nothing he will remain, until he can get over the fact that the love he still feels is pointless. She doesn’t love him any more. At all. It is over, and he can’t get it through his head. She fucking hates him, but is too nice to be mean, she should slap him, smack some sense into him, anything to get him away from who he is. I don’t even want to be here any more. I don’t want to be him, he depresses me, and I am not one to depress. I was something so much more before but now, look at me, strung out alone, sleepless, dreamless, loveless.. What have I become? What was i before? Why am I here, why can’t he figure this shit out for himself? Why is he so oblivious to everything he should see or know? What is it about this kid that makes him such a dumb fuck? He is worthless, a dreamless coward, a loveless asshole who should be shunned, and outcasted.
But…. He is me. And I am he. And he loves her, as do i.  He will attempt to come to terms, as will I. And maybe one day he will be free of her, and I free of him. But time seems so slow, and minutes are hours and hours days. These things take time, and it seems time is all we can afford.  We were, as I once was, and he once was, but now, we are as we are.
This boulder, the base… I fear it has no more support then before, be it as the smallest fraction of a length right now, the base is still a base.  And the boulder of emotions still lies in broken pieces. Waiting for someone to pick them up. To put them back together, to fix him, and me. But for now, we are only pieces of a whole.