February 23, 2012.
Late at night sometimes I miss him. The deep silky calm of his voice, even when the words were harsh, it felt as if sweeter sounds were never heard. The harshness I do not and will not ever miss, but he like no other could wash away panic with waves of calming clarity. Sometimes I miss his ungodly air of all-knowing, even if it were born of falsehoods and maintained through cons and lies. Sometimes all a girl wants for is a pretty lie to coax her to sleep. Would I be happier had I never seen through the window he so carefully painted over? The picture he drew was bleak, but beautiful in the way that only truly sad things could be. Is it better to see through clear panes into a lonely reality? Likely. Perhaps I would be happier with a beautiful lie in competition with an ugly truth. I am a fool with too much sense to do myself any good. And he is a fool with not enough sense to do himself any good. I am a fool who misses a fool. At the very heart of it all, I simply and truly miss his words. They were often times too many, and cruel with an alarming frequency, but they were ever present and there is something indescribably comforting about that kind of consistency. I think about him and his damnable words more than I care to confess to and I yearn for the days when he doesn’t come to mind during the torturous hours when I try to find sleep. Sometimes I fear one day I will be utterly consumed by panic and stricken by helplessness and not a soul will be able to comfort me, including and least of all myself. I’ll feel as if I need him terribly despite myself and much to my despair. Yet, he will be nowhere to be found. Even if he could help, he wouldn’t. Not now. I believe him to be spiteful in this way. Although considering the way of things, I doubt I could blame him. I would have liked to remain close if I thought it were at all possible. However, i feel that I know it is not. We will never be close again; and sometimes I wonder if we were ever really close at all.