talking with my teachers tonight… whispers to the air, now pressed into the wax paper of memory…
i wonder what lessons you learned from me
i wonder if you learned anything from me
i’ve written at length here of the things i’ve learned from you
there are many things i’m still learning
but i see them, fuzzy outlines, because i met you
i can’t say i ever knew you
i realize that now
i realize a lot of things
some sad
you said the things i wrote
about you here made you sick
but you never read them all
i know you that well at least
you only read until it hurt
then you stopped
i wrote through the hurt
and i write still
and yes, sometimes, it still hurts
but somewhere in all the letters
is where the learning is for me
i intend to find it
i have to
the idea of doing this again
is not something i can stomach
the things you wrote
the things you said
about me
they hurt no less, you know
but are you any less able to stop than me?
just because i write them openly, frankly
doesn’t mean they’re unchanging
or even real
they’re just the way i fight
with myself
to learn
i’d like to think you might look beyond
the hurt and ego and pain
and see the good things here
they’re not all bad, you know
just like you weren’t
just like i’m not
just like he isn’t
most times, writing through the pain
makes me realize just how good
we all are
or might have been
to one another
don’t you ever get tired of saying ‘someday’?
i know i do.
that’s why i do this.
that’s why i write it all down
good, bad, ugly, indifferent
force myself to see it all
and then
realize
it’s all the same
it’s all nothing
it’s all distraction, illusion
it keeps us segregated, lonely, fearful
aren’t you tired of holding it so tightly?
i am.
i am beyond weary for all the stupidity of me
i am tired of being ignorant
and letting all this world
get in the way
of being
i remember the first days
before we remembered ourselves
before the histories we cling to
got in the way
i want to be a stranger to you again
someone you can smile to
someone you can trust
i want you to be a stranger
someone i can believe in
someone i can trust
there’s no undoing the past, but
i don’t have to hold it
i don’t have to cling
sometimes the way i am
makes me cry
sometimes the way you won’t forgive
does the same
i can’t unmake the mistakes
and i’ve written all the words i needed
to forget yours
well
almost
and i’ve written all the words i needed
to forget his, too
to forgive him
but i still fight with suspicion
old habits die hard
but they do die
when we stop resuscitating them
i do not know why
you need to remember
i do not know why
he wants to remember
i may never know
and perhaps it doesn’t matter
not a thing i can change
but i can change me
this place, these words, these ways
they are my trying
weeds and flowers alike,
carefully saved
lessons for learning
from the only one who can get away with saying them
from the only one i cannot escape or ignore
maybe you will never choose to understand
maybe you’ll never even read this
but since i’m writing it for me
that’s ok
all ways but one…
om benza sattav hum
thank you for being you… still