Alive
Alive
I stared in fear at the man towering over me. A man I once held only love and affection for. A man who was my best friend and my worst enemy, my role model and my hero.
What happened to the days of innocence? The days when we would laugh together at a comedy on the TV. Days when we would laugh so much tears of mirth would make shining tracks down our faces.
The days we would go fishing and not catch a single thing. Where we would sit and talk for hours on end. Our conversation, ceaseless and easy, meandering through so many different topics.
The days when we would argue over which celebrity was more attractive. Our comebacks becoming more absurd as we ran out of valid arguments. Your brow would crease in concentration as you tried to think of another statement. The way your tongue would sneak its way from the corner of your mouth without you realising, a sure sign that you were concentrating.
I miss those days. I miss everything you used to do. But most of all I miss your smile. A smile so bright it lit up your entire face, a smile so wide all your teeth were on display, a smile that left your eyes sparkling with joy.
But you stopped smiling. What replaced your once dazzling smile was a constant look of anger and distaste; a look that would only intensify when I was in the room. It was a look you used to only wear when you had a foul taste in your mouth, did I leave a foul taste in your mouth?
I tried to be perfect for you. I tried to help you in any way possible. But in the end I guess I want good enough. Maybe my helping only made you angrier; maybe I just got in the way, but at least I tried. You never once uttered a thank you, no matter how hard I tried.
But then, it is my fault that you were like that, isn’t it? if I hadn’t told you. If I had been able to better predict your reaction. If I had the guts to lie to you face, the guts to say “I’m kidding, of course I don’t mean it.”
But I didn’t, and it happened, all of it.
I realise now that I will never truly heal from this. The cuts were too deep, the pain too real. I can improve, everyone has the capacity to improve, but I will never truly get over this. It will always be there; the phantom in the depths of my mid, keeping me awake at night, haunting my dreams, corrupting my aims, dragging up my deepest, darkest fears.
Yet, truly I don’t want to get over this, I don’t want to forget. I want the scars to remain. A bitter sweet reminder of all that has happened; the happiness, the sadness, the pain, the regret, all of it.
If you cannot learn from past mistakes what is the point of that past? You need all the bad things to happen. For, without them you cannot truly feel happiness. What happened to me was meant to happen and has only made me stronger.
Do I regret what happened? Do I regret the destruction and the pain I cause? Of course I do, who wouldn’t? But I am glad it did. Now for the first time in my life I feel truly happy. For the first time I feel truly alive.
What happened to the days of innocence? The days when we would laugh together at a comedy on the TV. Days when we would laugh so much tears of mirth would make shining tracks down our faces.
The days we would go fishing and not catch a single thing. Where we would sit and talk for hours on end. Our conversation, ceaseless and easy, meandering through so many different topics.
The days when we would argue over which celebrity was more attractive. Our comebacks becoming more absurd as we ran out of valid arguments. Your brow would crease in concentration as you tried to think of another statement. The way your tongue would sneak its way from the corner of your mouth without you realising, a sure sign that you were concentrating.
I miss those days. I miss everything you used to do. But most of all I miss your smile. A smile so bright it lit up your entire face, a smile so wide all your teeth were on display, a smile that left your eyes sparkling with joy.
But you stopped smiling. What replaced your once dazzling smile was a constant look of anger and distaste; a look that would only intensify when I was in the room. It was a look you used to only wear when you had a foul taste in your mouth, did I leave a foul taste in your mouth?
I tried to be perfect for you. I tried to help you in any way possible. But in the end I guess I want good enough. Maybe my helping only made you angrier; maybe I just got in the way, but at least I tried. You never once uttered a thank you, no matter how hard I tried.
But then, it is my fault that you were like that, isn’t it? if I hadn’t told you. If I had been able to better predict your reaction. If I had the guts to lie to you face, the guts to say “I’m kidding, of course I don’t mean it.”
But I didn’t, and it happened, all of it.
I realise now that I will never truly heal from this. The cuts were too deep, the pain too real. I can improve, everyone has the capacity to improve, but I will never truly get over this. It will always be there; the phantom in the depths of my mid, keeping me awake at night, haunting my dreams, corrupting my aims, dragging up my deepest, darkest fears.
Yet, truly I don’t want to get over this, I don’t want to forget. I want the scars to remain. A bitter sweet reminder of all that has happened; the happiness, the sadness, the pain, the regret, all of it.
If you cannot learn from past mistakes what is the point of that past? You need all the bad things to happen. For, without them you cannot truly feel happiness. What happened to me was meant to happen and has only made me stronger.
Do I regret what happened? Do I regret the destruction and the pain I cause? Of course I do, who wouldn’t? But I am glad it did. Now for the first time in my life I feel truly happy. For the first time I feel truly alive.