Seemingly it took me 11 days. That’s all. It took me 11 days to get used to the whole idea of you not being part of my life anymore. Has writing really helped? Maybe. Has just time passed since I started feeling bad until I wrote everything down and the journey was easier? Maybe. But I am glad it happened, even as it is. Is a person ever truly out of your life? I will never know.
I was told to write about you. I was told that I can’t yet realize just how much writing helps. But, at this point, I am more than willing to try. The only problem is and has always been – I don’t know what to write about you. What to write about us; about me. I guess I will keep on trying until I’ll find out.
I think there is one thing I have realised. One thing that I actually knew since forever. I don’t hate you. Not a bit. Not now, at least. I wish I did, though. If only I hated you, things would be so much easier right now. For me. For you. For . . . us. But is this ever going to be simple? A straight forward answer. A real word coming out of your mouth. A real feeling from you. Anything. But real. I need real.
It’s crazy how one thing leads to another. It happened to think about you. Again. It becomes a habbit. Is it bad? Is it good? Lord only knows. And I realised just how much I miss you. More than I ever thought I would.
It’s winter. I’m at my grandma’s. I have the fire cracking in the chimney, her strong black coffee, home made wine. I have my winter here; between the fluffy blankets and huge pillows, in the middle of nature, with the river crossing just outside our backyard, still hearing it at night, when it’s quiet. After all these years. I can still hear it. The smell of fire, of the heat you inhale once you get inside a room, the smell of winter, snow, of coldness. I love these things – I live awaiting for them. All year, that’s all I can think about. Getting here. Having my perfect, forever dreamt break. But now? What am I doing? Staring into the fire, thinking of you. That’s just how much I miss you. You’re on my mind now, not peace.
I’ve always thought fire is red. When I saw red, I saw fire. And I loved it. It meant order for me, it meant greatness, perfection, life and death, it was what I always craved of having next to me. I craved the sound of fire, the feeling of getting warmed up by it, I just lived for it.
And that’s how I had you – red. So beautiful, loving, kind, just. . .perfect. As I used to look at the fire growing up, feeling as calm as I could get, feeling relaxed, at ease, I also used to look at you. You made me feel peace. You made me feel happy, safe and enough.
But in this very moment, standing in front of the fire, with the sound of wood cracking in my ears, the dance of the flames and the smell of heat, I see it’s not just red. I see it as it truly is. It’s yellow, and it’s black, orange, so bright, so dangerous, so scary, unforgiving, craving to destroy, just like you my dear. You were never red. You were powerful, you were happiness and sadness. You were laughter and tears. You were arousal and yet death. I do see you as you were now. Not just red, but also poisonous. Mortal. But even so, as I love watching fire, I still love watching you. Playing, smelling, staring, tasting.
I once asked you ‘what if I miss you’. I still don’t remember your reply, but I realised it was an impulsive question. I had yet to realise I was missing you. I just wanted an answer, I just wanted words from you. I had no care about that you said back, I didn’t want meaning – just words. Something coming from you. But now, oh, I see just how much I miss you. The thought of you burns me deep inside. Burns so hot that it makes me ill. And I still have no clue of what could heal that burn. Once a fire wood is starting to burn, it dies. It burns up completely, It’s like. . .it dedicates itself to the flames. But what if I don’t want to end up consumed by you?
I watched the stars tonight. It’s funny how almost everytime I write about you it’s about 3 in the morning, after I watch the stars and come inside at the fire and red lights. I kept walking in circles, staring back at the moon and wondering if you look at it too. I don’t even know why I feel this way about you. Everytime I’m supposed to be disteacted and stay away from the thought of you. . . that’s when I can only think about it. I want you to leave me and for good this time, yet I can’t help but want your presence, your words. I can’t help but still hope. And when you’re just not here, I feel broken. There are moments when I truly believe you’re gone, yet you appear once again. You’re fire, aren’t you supposed to burn me down and leave? Please. Just leave.
I guess I wanted something from you. Why else would I have kept you around for so long? And now I’m on the path of realising what is that I wanted from you. Going back on it, I remember back then it was only attention. I wanted you to be around me. But for what? I am yet to understand unfortunately. I will never truly forgive myself for that night. Remember that deadly night, when I started to believe in you? To believe how perfect this could have been? I surely remember it, with a heart full of regrets. I don’t know many things right now, but what I do know is that it took you seconds to fool me, to completly play me, to totaly induce me under your spell. And I wanted it.
I truly believe I understand something now. The annoying part? I knew it all along, but I preferred to ignore it. Everyone has those childish dreams – what they want in life, I had mines too. And, ironically enough, you sort of matched. You gave me exactly what I needed back then. Importance. You acted as though I mattered to you. Maybe I did, even if I don’t really believe it. You acted exactly the way I wanted you to, without me ever telling you anything. I guess you can call it faith, or whatever. That’s why I still wonder how did you? How did you know what to say and what to do when you never actually knew me? Things like this make me want to believe in soulmates. Yet you proved me such thing doesn’t exist. Not in the real world. So now what? Where does this leave me? I’ll find out and hopefully by then you’ll be truly gone.
It doesn’t just crack, you know? It’s dying. It suffers. A lot from what I can hear right now. And yes, it’s red, orange, blue, black. It’s dangrous and deadly. It lures you, get it? It seems warm and perfect for your needs, yet if you come too close, it hurts. It doesn’t just burn you immediately. It’s just that awfully strong heat. You want to take your hand back, it’s too much and you know it. Still, as you get used to it, you learn how to be here – warm – without being hurt that much. Or so you think. It still affects your skin. Just slower. And you still end up being burnt, it just took you longer than others. But you ended up just as hurt and miserable. How? It was your friend, it gave you warmth, light, and oh, such a sight! And you only had to give it something to consume. But it also consumed you. Slowly, bit by bit, but it happened. You swore it was impossible, yet here you are, living the consequences.
That’s the way I used to see fire – back when it was one of my many phobias, not what it is now. And sunshine, that’s the way I see you now. You consume and if I give you nothing, you just take it. You just take everything I’ve got, without me even realizing. And it hurts. But just the same way I did with fire, I thought I could get used to it. Darling, you are one that cannot be tamed. You burn and rise, kill then smile.
The real show is behind the curtains. Did you know that? Oh, of course you know, that’s how you do things too. You laugh and smile at me. I feel you as this ray of hope and light. And you tell such deceiving lies! You once said you felt too close. Too close to what? Too close from what? And now I think I know the answer. I was the one being too close. Too close you you, as you went back behind the curtains, too close to seeing the little show you put up back there. Too close to you, when you were stepping back. And oh, if only I had known that road was full of traps. . .
I truly feel you’re gone this time. I’d love to say I’m suffering. Oh, how much I’d love that. But I don’t. Not at all. I feel happy, relieved, like the hardest rock has been lifted up from my chest. I do miss you, I must admit. But what do I actually miss? Is it you, as a person, or the things you gave me? I miss the thought of you. But I can easily survive that. I don’t feel sad, nor do I feel disappointed. I feel like I regained a part of me lost in the moment I met you. I feel complete again. So thank you for leaving.