This is me (a prelude to what comes)

Dear Imaginary Lover

This is pretty much me. Most people I know are running away from something. I won't make any kind of guess into what that could be. To each their own and whatnot. It's not like I haven't found myself drowning in sin or digging a hole further into my depression. It's not like I haven't ran from or to or away... At some point, after running for so long I just sort of...stopped momentarily. I decided that I would turn around and face what I considered the worst of me and learn to smile at it and love it. It's still apart of me after all, a large part. That I fail at... spectacularly.

I hold myself to standard I'm struggling to breathe in. Consistently in some state I'm separate from, but watching and judging from a distance. I think "how could I be so weak, or nieve?" As I seek forgiveness through repentance...

I say "I'm sorry"...I apologize for the inconveniences. I move out the way, to stand in my own. I barricade myself behind barriers of insecurities. Then I distance myself... because "no one should have to deal with this mess." This murky. This unfathomable, insatiable loneliness that I've cast myself towards. That I've lunge myself head first into.

I've convinced myself. That I can't be saved, when the truth is I'm not sure if I want to be. I'm accustomed to this pain, this longing. I identify with it. I answer to it like I've given it a name. Like, I've looked into the mirror, disgruntled and justified. That somehow I deserved whatever this lingering resentment towards myself I was feeling held some weight. A heaviness that I've called "lover" and ol"friend."

I would say its funny but it's not. Though i find myself laughing at the irony. Wanting to run (away) while I'm burdened by the heaviness that rest on my heart trying to brust from head. Whatever this life has in store for me, maybe its insanity, but the laughter that bellows, even though I can't tell, still rings true. Still holds me accountable like some foreign lover...

I'd forgotten how it feels to be in genuine care. A kind of compassion that envelopes instead of smoothers. A kind of love that feels like...granite. An unyielding firmness that I feel proud of even though I've been buried 6 ft in turmoil, somehow wrapped in a kind of bliss. . .but I digress, some time ago I decided not to run. That I would face my pain. I would embrace it and face it head on. Listen, lover. I'm not always successful at being the bigger man but this is who I am.