Is it just me or has everyone developed a “the world is out to get me” mentality”?
I’m also eager to find out how it is that I come to be in the path of everyone’s projecting of it?
It always starts behind a screen. A tone assumed. Context lost in translation. Intent completely missed. The kicker is that when I see misery mount up to take me down as company and I wave a white flag and say, “I’m on your side”, the paranoid never believe me. This paranoia has a god complex and knows my intentions better than me.
I could be completely silent; and my unshared, private thoughts would haunt the paranoid.
What’s a girl to do?
I’ve tried pleading my case. I’ve offered explanations. I’ve cried way too many tears.
I’m done with it.
I keep getting the same message, in short: I need to use my voice and tell my story.
The question I pose isn’t why, but how? Where do you start? Who do you start with?
I’m looking for guidance, friends. Read. Think; and also PLEASE discuss this with me.
Much of what is discarded still holds value.
What are you taking for granted?
I dreamt of you last night. I wanted to reach out and remind you that I care, I’m rooting for you and hope this finds you and yours well. I know you already know that. I don’t know if you know that I miss you and the boys presence in my life immensely, our long conversations on cold nights until we fell asleep, your hand between the leather of my boot and cotton of my jeans as we just ride your bike down an open road, on a sunny, summer day, the feeling and freedom like flying.
I’ll never understand how or why you arrived at the decision to erect these boundaries between us, but I respect them. I’m leaving with the best moments tucked away safely in my memories and no regrets.
Peace and Prosper, Captain.
Tonight was brisk and rainy.
Around 8pm, I met him again for a drink in the hotel bar. We got closer as our conversation continued. We walk a couple doors down for dinner. He seems satisfied afterwards and I’m certain we will part ways, but he asks me to have another drink with him. We take our time walking the city block. He tries to capture the mood with a picture: a dark, wet passage lit up by string lights and store fronts that dance in the drizzled, rippled puddle reflections.
Over our last drink, he brings up one of our first conversations, a question I posed that has really caused him to do some soul searching. He tells me he feels an attraction to me: and also he feels that he is still very much jaded from his prior relationships.
That’s what he said.
When I asked what made him say that his response was:
“I don’t know. I don’t want to lose you over three words.”
Since then, I’ve been nauseous.
I think not.
Competing with men’s comfort zones is pulling me apart. Everything is never ending.
Have you had one of those conversations you never saw coming from someone you’ve known, but suddenly find out is willing to introduce themselves to you on another level? A conversation that tears down walls and opens up doors?
I had that conversation tonight.
It was if I was looking through a key hole and suddenly everything aligned, illuminated and gave me a desperately needed glimmer of hope.
Good people exist.
They’re tired and skittish, but what a brutiful sight when a spark sets off a blaze of bravery to share their souls once more.