MELBOURNE

MY WORD

It’s a beautiful thing, really, how the happiest things fly away. They go and may never come back. The painful part is that you’re stuck with their memory. You try to let go, but the thought of them brings that pain back. You try to shoot at it, but you miss, and now you’re running out of bullets. It’s always that same old butterfly. You look at it from afar. So pretty, but then you remember you can’t tame it. That’s what hurts. The same thing with love; it hurts.

I think I never truly loved a woman in the same way a man who wished to spend all his life beside her would. I think I love deeply for some time, then I leave and never come back. Because that’s who I am. Take a closer look at my heart. We see that I’m not meant to stay. It’s about loving just enough to finally let go. Because that’s what I do.

When the sun sleeps and the moon awakes, I find myself looking upward. I see stars through the little dots that make up my ceiling. I enjoy the view and also love it when I can just stare. When life hurts and I stop thinking about a woman for some time, I have time for myself. I take a deep breath, and I think about what I did. I never regret it, sadly. But I cry. A couple of tears, really. Not much. Then I smile before I sleep. That’s the memory of my face I want to have before I close my eyes. A smile. Yellowish teeth and wrinkles at the sides of my eyes.

With every dream comes a genuine feeling of distress. I wake up more times than I can count. I feel bad. I have no idea why. Then I go back to sleep and wake up again. And again. And again. Until it’s time to get up. I do my morning ritual, and it all seems so magical, really. It only takes a toothbrush. Water. Clothes. And I’m good to go. Life blessed me in some way. I couldn’t say how, but I really do feel blessed. Somehow. In a way.

The music on the way to work. The sound of the cars dashing. The slight bit of rain. The lady and her two sons; she keeps yelling at them. I don’t know why. But I hope she’ll stop one day. Just like I always do. With every woman. Every feminine heart. I hope she gets tired and apologizes to her two sons. They deserve it. Just like every woman deserves my dearest and most profound apologies. For every heart I’ve broken. Every soul I’ve crushed. I am very sorry, but again, I don’t feel bad. Because I know I’ll do it again if a woman gets any closer to me. I’ll hurt her. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am. With every incoming stranger, every nice cashier, comes a game I have to play. A way. A certain kind of way. To speak. To be heard. To be felt. There’s a way in every way. With everyone— anyone.

Maybe it’s not people that I like. Maybe it’s really you. If so, I got confused. I’m sorry for being so blind, but I won’t change, unfortunately. I hope your heart heals with time. But I also wish for you to stay just like this. That way I’ll know I was not just a vague presence. My absence caused you pain. I’m glad, although I’m sorry; I’m still glad. Because sometimes you can be the villain and still be okay with it. Because sometimes…you realize there’s no hope for good. You’re just the way you are, really. Nothing you can do about it. It’s during those times that I think: it’s over for me. There’s no chance, really. When I thought it was you who could save me, you who could pull me out, I wasn’t wrong; I made myself wrong. Because I don’t want you to be the one. Maybe in a broken world, maybe. Maybe in another world where people like me don’t exist, where another me lives. Maybe in a world like that…I’ll be better. But it’s not this one.

I sometimes think you’re too pure for me. They say it’s a matter of perception. You never truly know. Sometimes you want to know. The mind wants to know. Not just you. But I also feel like sometimes you’re the mind. But then the heart isn’t the mind, so maybe the heart isn’t you. But what it feels affects you. Weird. It really is. It is.

I wish you the very best somewhere, somehow. Not in my world. Be happy, smile, really. But don’t let me know. Hide it from me. Go far away. Somewhere in California. Los Angeles, maybe. And find a man you deserve. I know you think it’s me. It’s not. I can make you happy; it’s true. But you should never expect much from someone who isn’t happy. So live your life. Have fun. Have kids. Enjoy yourself. Live to the fullest. Grow. Find a passion. I don’t know. Maybe fishing? Whatever you find, don’t tell me. Keep it locked in your life. Your universe. Keep me far away. Don’t write back.

I love you.