Bullet Holes

Every once in a while, you pop up on my radar. You come waltzing in to my brain with your trickery, and your unfulfilled promises and your silent treatment. Sometimes it's a passing glance in the mirror, or a person who shares your name.

The topic of you often times renders me silent, a grief so big and so vast that I don't really know how to define it, so I sit still. I've spent a lifetime processing you. I've been infected with your virus and I know I'll never be the same. 

In many ways I wish I could hate you. I wish I could define you by your failures and your great disappointments and ball it all up in a soccer ball of rage and then kick it around every once in a while for good measure. But the simple matter of it all is that I just feel so sad for what you've walked away from, what you've abandoned, too sad to be angry anymore.

I'm one hell of a human being. You've really missed out. All of my successes? You don't have a damn bit of handiwork in that. All of my accomplishments? Nope. The lessons I've learned throughout my life, and the tears that I've shed over loves and friends and life... none of them have you as the good guy. And you had a million trillion opportunities and chances to make that different. You could have, you should have, you didn't.

You've missed out on how utterly freaking hilarious I am, and how I work hard to see the positives, a polar opposite to your misery and unending fear and unhappiness. I've stared down the barrel of a plethora of guns that shook me to my core, and never once were you a piece of the equation of support or encouragement of safety. You've missed out on my happiest moments, and the most challenging hurdles being overcome, and you never had an idea that they were even happening. What a shame...

I built up a thousand walls of protection, and then I sat on top of it all and saw how utterly lonely it would make me. So I began the tedious work of chiseling it away piece by piece, and letting the fresh air in. It was agonizing, and overwhelming and exhausting. I spent years sobbing, and grieving. I stopped trying to understand and define everything. I dove in to the pain and rode its wave to shore, and when I got there... when I got there you were nowhere around. You were not a part of what kept me standing. You were one of the sharks in the water trying to knock me off. What a shame...

I didn't go without, as a result of you. I wasn't starved for support and affection. Your infection didn't remove the outside forces from their healing words. Yet, every once in a while, I catch a glimpse of you in my mirror and I feel so sad that you choose not to be a good guy in my story. You pop up in my head and I feel such a heavy sadness about that decision of yours. I've gotten to the point where I'm not even sure if there are any tears left to cry over it. What a shame...