Elvis has left the building.
I have disable comments and my phone is off for the time being. When I can breathe again I will return calls.
Jiji,
I put my hand in my pocket. I grab a door knob. I set my hand on a table,
and I feel the emptyness. The void where something once was. A ring,
worn and dirty, but unbroken, that signified a promise. The ring that
stood for a decade of comfort, caring, adventures and, yes, passion.
No more. No more will a clenched fist be met with a comforting reminder
of love and safety. No more will I be sure that someone, somewhere, is
waiting for me to return. Someone who fills my life with warm meals,
warm arms, and warm smiles.
No, now it is gone. Gone from my hand, gone from my life. Willingly
discarded and set aside.
And yet the memories remain. They flood into the void like a rushing
river, overflowing and spilling out into my being. A lifetime of
joyous experiences, aborted and abandoned. The sorrow wells up,
consumes, and envelops. For a time there is nothing but hurt, a
recurring pumelling of the soul.
A forced stop. A pause to recollect. The gait resumes, but it's slower
now, listless and without verve.
I feel this pain, but the pain of what was once and what may never be
again pales in comparison to the pain I feel at the anguish I have caused
you, the whose trust I betrayed.
We built a life together. We created a household. We assembled an odd-
duck family of miscreant animals. This life together, this life which
I cruelly tore apart in the search for something vague and undefined.
A quest for that which may not be found. A foible, naive quest that
may heap piles and piles of hurt upon my already bruised person.
That this decision was mine, and mine alone, does not allay the anguish.
No comfort to be found in a gentle touch, a warm embrace, or a soothing
word. The source of my comfort, of my assurance, has been damaged. Broken
and hurting more than I can ever know, that which provided comfort can
provide condolence no more. Inspiration and hope have been replaced with
acrimony and malice.
I sit, as you hurl virtriol and spite, and listen. You're right to be
hurt. You're right to hate me. I have taken your life and torn it to
pieces. You wanted nothing but to care for me. To protect me. To see
me happy. And, ignoring that, I chose an incomprehensible path of
suffering and destruction.
Again and again, you ask "why?" You demand a reason, an action, a cause,
something specific to rage against. But the conversation stalls. My mind
seethes in a churn of confused thoughts. Emotions. Feelings. Nothing
comes out. Nothing is epxressed. No target, no salve to settle your
soul.
I want nothing of you but to see you happy. To see you live. To protect
you from the world. But I cannot shield you from this. I am powerless,
because this reality is my doing. I am the cause of this, and my words
simply fuel the fire, which grows into a raging inferno of vindiction.
That I have hurt you is undeniable, and I regret this with all of my
being. I failed you, hurt you, made you suffer, and no apology I can
offer will heal that hurt.
I pray and I hope with all of my being that your suffering will ease.
That your wounds will heal. That the bitterness will ebb. That you
recover from the tragedy of my broken promises, and that you will
build a life in which you flourish.
I am sorry, truly. I sit here and pour through synonyms, trying to find
a better, more suiting way to express that feeling. Melancholy. Ashamed.
Apologetic. Rueful. Repentant. Yes, all of these words describe how I
feel. I am full of hurt. I am full of remorse. But "sorry" rings true.
I wish that you did not hurt. I wish that I could find a solution to
our pain. But I cannot deceive you, cannot live a lie, cannot pretend
that things will get better, cannot set aside the desire for something
different. For that, I apologize.
-Jon
Jiji,
I put my hand in my pocket. I grab a door knob. I set my hand on a table,
and I feel the emptyness. The void where something once was. A ring,
worn and dirty, but unbroken, that signified a promise. The ring that
stood for a decade of comfort, caring, adventures and, yes, passion.
No more. No more will a clenched fist be met with a comforting reminder
of love and safety. No more will I be sure that someone, somewhere, is
waiting for me to return. Someone who fills my life with warm meals,
warm arms, and warm smiles.
No, now it is gone. Gone from my hand, gone from my life. Willingly
discarded and set aside.
And yet the memories remain. They flood into the void like a rushing
river, overflowing and spilling out into my being. A lifetime of
joyous experiences, aborted and abandoned. The sorrow wells up,
consumes, and envelops. For a time there is nothing but hurt, a
recurring pumelling of the soul.
A forced stop. A pause to recollect. The gait resumes, but it's slower
now, listless and without verve.
I feel this pain, but the pain of what was once and what may never be
again pales in comparison to the pain I feel at the anguish I have caused
you, the whose trust I betrayed.
We built a life together. We created a household. We assembled an odd-
duck family of miscreant animals. This life together, this life which
I cruelly tore apart in the search for something vague and undefined.
A quest for that which may not be found. A foible, naive quest that
may heap piles and piles of hurt upon my already bruised person.
That this decision was mine, and mine alone, does not allay the anguish.
No comfort to be found in a gentle touch, a warm embrace, or a soothing
word. The source of my comfort, of my assurance, has been damaged. Broken
and hurting more than I can ever know, that which provided comfort can
provide condolence no more. Inspiration and hope have been replaced with
acrimony and malice.
I sit, as you hurl virtriol and spite, and listen. You're right to be
hurt. You're right to hate me. I have taken your life and torn it to
pieces. You wanted nothing but to care for me. To protect me. To see
me happy. And, ignoring that, I chose an incomprehensible path of
suffering and destruction.
Again and again, you ask "why?" You demand a reason, an action, a cause,
something specific to rage against. But the conversation stalls. My mind
seethes in a churn of confused thoughts. Emotions. Feelings. Nothing
comes out. Nothing is epxressed. No target, no salve to settle your
soul.
I want nothing of you but to see you happy. To see you live. To protect
you from the world. But I cannot shield you from this. I am powerless,
because this reality is my doing. I am the cause of this, and my words
simply fuel the fire, which grows into a raging inferno of vindiction.
That I have hurt you is undeniable, and I regret this with all of my
being. I failed you, hurt you, made you suffer, and no apology I can
offer will heal that hurt.
I pray and I hope with all of my being that your suffering will ease.
That your wounds will heal. That the bitterness will ebb. That you
recover from the tragedy of my broken promises, and that you will
build a life in which you flourish.
I am sorry, truly. I sit here and pour through synonyms, trying to find
a better, more suiting way to express that feeling. Melancholy. Ashamed.
Apologetic. Rueful. Repentant. Yes, all of these words describe how I
feel. I am full of hurt. I am full of remorse. But "sorry" rings true.
I wish that you did not hurt. I wish that I could find a solution to
our pain. But I cannot deceive you, cannot live a lie, cannot pretend
that things will get better, cannot set aside the desire for something
different. For that, I apologize.
-Jon