There are times when I wish I could recall the feelings I believed I felt three years ago. There are times when I wish I could subdue my mind into finding you attractive in some way once again. There are times that I desperately wish I felt something besides nothingness when I pressed my lips against yours. In this case, it seems my heart has won the battle against my mind. Being with you again is what feels safe, is what always has been safe and is what drove me so far from you three autumns ago. The thing is, I never knew how to tell you this without feeling like I've deeply hurt you. For my own soul's peace I've made excuse after excuse in order to hide what we probably both know to be true. Love was a word that danced off my lips because I thought that was what I wanted. I mean, I did want to be loved but I never approached the capacity to reciprocate that sort of love towards you. I have loved many places, many things, and many people but never in the way you required me to love you.
I have an idea of the type of person I'd like to love and that's likely where the problem begins. That person isn't real and never will be but until I allow all parts of me the accept that, I will continue to chase that ideal. I can say that in all sincerity, but I don't feel it. I'm the worst kind of hopeless romantic there ever has been. So when you called me five or six times this weekend and I didn't answer, it meant something. I'm going to stop trying to make it work because it never will. I'm not going to pretend anymore because it leaves me empty. Your total acceptance of who and what I am is what scares me the most. You'd be fine with spending your entire life with me knowing that I don't love you, never have and never will. That's too easy for me. This has to be goodbye.
2 comments:
Well -- now we've all read that lament; let's take a look outside the tent:
http://www.oilydog.org -- BEWARE: it is a sad picture albeit the dog is still on its feet, in the picture, and no one (as usual) knows exactly what happened to it afterwards except, we do know this: the journalists who took the photo walked away.) So I am putting this song out on the web in various places.
the water's going down today
there's workers walking by
and journalists are out there too
to profit while they spy
the work is cleaning oil
which has leaked and made a bog
and up to them comes begging
just a little oily dog
the working guys they give it pats
it was hoping for much more
it needs water, and it needs to get
this poison off its fur
the working men go on their way
helping doesn't cross their minds
but maybe there is hope because
the journalists are behind
they know it is a sorry sight -
the proof is not profound:
to take a touching picture
journalists laid down on the ground
shooting upwards for a portrait
of its paws and pleading face
with the blue sky in the background
several angles just in case
let's go back several weeks from here
back to some similar scenes -
here's a lady living on a bridge
in downtown New Orleans
living out there in the open
with her red dog by her side
she refused the no-pets transport
and, so far, she has not died
she refused the no-pets horror
now the camera's in her face
crouching with her dog there on the bridge
journalists' paychecks from her case
she refused the no-pets idiocy and
for this nightmare to end,
she just needs a ride from New Orleans
but not without her friend
the journalists moved along and
what came next we cannot know
if journalists had helped these two
they'd have certainly told us so
so here we are, another street
this time the dog's unowned:
he's made money for the journalists, now
they're leaving him alone
yes here we are, another street
the dog hopes they'll be kind
he's made money for the journalists, now
they're leaving him behind
they don't want oil on their shirts
nor on their camera straps
they only want the tear-jerk photos
falling in their laps
now when the waters rise all kinds
of people float their way -
and some float in, and some ride off,
and some are there for pay
and when the waters sink again
there's a simple rule of thumb
to tell between the helpers,
and the poison and the scum
for every picture taken
there's a Taker standing by:
with a mind not on survival and
with clothes and cameras dry
with food and transportation
and hired security
and a journalist's delusions about
journalistic purity
with the journalists' delusions
about what they need not do
with the journalists' delusions that
they're doing this For You
with the journalists' delusions
of professional states of Grace
and journalistic commentary while oil
and tears run down your face
Copyright 2005 by Doug Gross
It wasn't really a lament...but okay. Yes, about the dogs...that's sad. What about the people? What about the ones that have lost everything and everyone? And the journalists? , I can't stand them either. I've heard all kinds of arguments of why they feel they cannnot get involved and with some I agree. Just look at Geraldo Rivera, he tried to "help" and what he really did was get in the rescuers way.
Thanks for your thoughts
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