Why is it, that even when one claims to understand and comes to accept a foreign setup, or an unusual circumstance; even when one claims to be capable of re-synchronizing what one has been used to, of saying farewell to what one has always thought will always be; why is it that they still end up crying on the bus, at the seat furthest back, saying one thing and meaning the other, hiding the tears behind locks of hair, stifling the shudders with make-believe casual clearing of the throat?
Tonight was one of the longest rides home I've ever had. The awkward seat edge digging into my left leg didn't help. Nor did the guy sitting next to me, double my height and build sluggishly swaying in his sleep.
The tears weren't welcome either. But they fell anyway.
From a place I don't know where, or how it was unearthed. In my sleep, in my wistful daydreams, in my pained thoughts, I might have tucked some aches in a deep, bottomless cavity in my chest. Left to brew for some time, the ache which lashed out tore me -- it was the kind of hurt that pulled the air right from your gut, or made tears slide down your cheeks without so much as moving a muscle.
They're falling, still.
Do you miss me as much as I miss you? Do you wonder how I'm doing, as much as I worry about how you are? There's so much I wish I could tell you. But I know it's not the right time. Not until it's too late for it, anyway. By then, there's no point in it anymore. And while I may have slipped and said too much that one time, I regretted it instantly. It wasn't fair for you. Whether it was fair for me too that time, shouldn't have mattered. You at least deserved my feigned happiness, because I know you couldn't pretend it for yourself.
Good Friend Rule says you put your friends' hearts first before your own.
Shushing a heart is never easy. Moreso, it seems my heart is refusing to cooperate with my logic. To think that the logical part seems like the easiest thing to do -- to ignore it all and pretend it isn't there. And soon enough, I might actually forget what I was fretting about in the first place.
Doesn't seem to be the case. It's like a dark drape looming over me without warning, over the littlest of incidents and most trivial of conversations. Logic won't work for me right now.
So I'll throw it out the window and brace myself for the hardest part of what I know I must do: let go.
Let go, and stay at the back of the bus, try to enjoy the ride as much as I can, even if it means we won't get to ride next to each other like we used to. Maybe it's time I gave up the seat I saved for you, stop craning my neck to check if you're missing me. Maybe it's time to look out the window and enjoy the scenery outside.
I could use the distraction.
Leaving isn't quite the same,
he said to me, as running away.
If you're scared and tired of
what you're scared of, why should you stay?
- How to Say Goodbye, Paul Tiernan
