Confusion

She talks a lot, sometimes more than she should. She’s often caught in her own discourse and wouldn’t listen to what others say. But she’s indeed dear to me and, during those days, I felt really close. Like our misery brought us entwined. Thus, I was paying attention and her words stuck to me, although I didn’t realize it then. But now, when the surroundings match them, those phrases come back to remind me she was right. So right. Why else would I hear her sentences loud and clear in the back of my head, over and over and over again?

Just as she would have known I’d be tempted, she warned me it wouldn’t be fair. I should make the past stay completely in the past before handling the present. I should not only let it go, but make peace with my choices and actions. I should see who I am, and trust myself as the sole anchor before placing hooks into people and places. I owe to me and I owe it to the ones that come close.

I know it all so well, I can even sense the reproach in her voice while I lose myself into replicated mistakes. ‘Don’t do it, you’re not being fair. It’s not right. This selfish behavior isn’t you. Don’t do it.’ But somehow confusion is my name. I want to be enough before starting to be the rest. I want to solve all the riddles inside prior to looking for exterior puzzles. I want to accept ties not because I have no choice, but within my own freedom to let them in or out.

If less than a few hours can make the switch between hope and disappointment, and back, then she’s gotta be more the right. I shouldn’t. But frail and confused as I am, how could I not? I must find that strength. It’s not fair, it’s not appropriate. It’s not even me. Bewildered, dim, chaotic, foggy. How could I not? If the light is fake, what then?

(18 feb 2018)

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