Fleeing from my fingertips

[fledermaus]

Just a bit of a vent to shake off some feelings and help me get some sleep.

I erased that drawing on the fridge today.
You know, the one that had been up there since you came to see me years ago. I erased it.
I never thought I would have to, but I can't stand seeing it so constantly.
I never thought you would treat me that way.
I took accountability. I changed my behavior. You didn't even see that I tried to meet you.
It didn't matter. I didn't matter.
You told me I had a superiority complex.
Maybe I do. Maybe I don't. I don't know. What I know for certain is that we were both in the wrong, and you didn't care about that. You were never focused on mending our friendship — You just wanted to hurt me and have someone to hold a grudge against. Someone to resent, so that you wouldn't have to hold yourself accountable.

I didn't think you were like that. I really thought you were different and that hurts. I wish I had the guts to say that to you, but I never will. It's probably for the best.

It's just unfortunate things end up the way they do, I suppose. My apology still stands as genuine as it did that day. I meant what I said. I still hope you end up happy. I just wish you hadn't acted the way you did.

I'm trying to surround myself with people who love me. It's hard, but I'm doing my best. I'm trying harder to ask for help when I need it instead of shutting down and isolating myself. I'm trying to unlearn that I'm a burden. Trying to remind myself that I am worthy of love and that I need time to grow into the person I want to be. I hope you can do that too.

I inhale, I exhale.
The day is long, the nights fuzzy and laid out upon a firm mattress. There's someone out there waiting for me to go see them. They love me, and I believe it. I love them. I look forward to our fingers intertwining, burying my face into their neck as their hand combs through my hair soothingly. They love me. They understand me — And if they do not, they desire to. They make an effort to hear me. Their breath is the moonlight that draws over the curtains at night. Their shaky palms hold within them a familiar trauma, but it's human, and I relate to it. The trauma isn't pretty, it isn't glorious — but it's human, and I'll love it all the same. I want to hold those palms in my own and tell them — I'll tell them — I see you. I understand you. And I love you. And I know you love me too. I feel safe with you.