If I can look at it objectively, which sometimes I’m able. I realize that for every harsh preacher I’ve found who walks away from their own bullshit, I’ve found someone who was soft and gentle. Not just someone I thought possessed those qualities.
But it’s easy to overlook the beauty in what you have been given, when all you can think about is wanting all your words back. All the music. When all you know is that you didn’t matter. And were told you were never cared for. Nevermind that whole new level. It wasn’t a thing.
It can feel like you have nothing left. And then I realize that I’ve felt that before. I’ve said it before. And it’s been true before. This time was no different. In any way. Which I suppose I knew. But that isn’t ever something I look for. And it would be the last thing I ever talk myself into. Missing out on caring for someone has never been something I’m anxious to do. That isn’t how it works.
Problem is, I don’t assign transitional purpose or value to my relationships. To place this hurt above any other wouldn’t make sense. And to let the humiliation, disregard and hatred for me overshadow a true friendship wouldn’t make sense. Each relationship is independent of another. Independent hurdles. Independent hurts. Independent lessons. They stay when they stay. They pass when they’re meant to. When it’s time. Regardless of what might already be sitting right in front of me. But, that was obvious, right. Now here I am.
We try again.
It wouldn’t be fair to make someone new meet those ghosts. The ones that hang on. I’ve made that mistake in the past with the wrong people. And it was abused and not tended to properly. I wasn’t expecting it, but I’ve learned to not unnecessarily put myself in that position again. Unfortunately, I do believe that in order for someone to truly care for us, know us and understand us, it is a necessary step that they know our pasts. I will stand by that. To a degree.
That’s where this time was different. It was erased. Like it never happened. So that’s it. I have to live with that. But no one else should have to. Sometimes ghosts are just ghosts. They want what they want. And they’re no match for a warm body that stays. So, I’ll be keeping this one to myself.