Incomprehensible.
When I think of you, and I, there is such a surge of thought, and emotion, and memory. Incomprehensible, meaningless, all and nothing. Save of course, for the constant want; the need, the yearning, the hunger.
I keep asking myself what it is I want from you. And I cannot find an answer I like. I thought, as I started to write this, that it was warmth I wanted, to balance out the cold. A kiss on the forehead after you hit me, an hour of your company after you left me lonely for days, a word of encouragement, or pride after you lashed me open. The neutrality I felt instead was stifling.
But the more I thought of these things that I thought were wishes, the closer I came to remember that they were memories. That the pain I felt was not desire alone, but grief as well. Mustard gas.
Then I wanted to understand why the warmth had disappeared. Did I not receive it gratefully enough when freely given? Did I not satisfy the conditions when suddenly there was a price? Did the fire of my anger eat away at the candle of your love? Would your reserves have lasted longer if I had simply been more lovable? And was it wrong of me to expect your reserves to never run out? Is it wrong of me to resent you still for giving up so quickly?
I keep asking myself these days, whether I deserve this distance between us. Maybe you're just protecting yourself, as I tried to protect myself. Maybe you are right, and I am too angry, too rebellious, too combative to be forgiven. Blessed are they that carry their burdens, bear the weight of expectation, of potential, of stifled words and suppressed emotion, of parentification, of rage, of being the eldest daughter. I put those burdens down and lit them up too quickly. But God forgive me, I was so starved for warmth.
I think all I want now is to be able to think of you and not cry. I want to be able to hug you and say I love you without it feeling like defeat, like surrender. I want to believe that I am forgiven and I want to forgive.
