It was a
habit, I daresay it was. People were puzzles to complete, mysteries to solve
and I found it a point to find their throbbing soul, to wander into the depths
of their thoughts. I did not want to necessarily heal them, or to stitch their
broken pieces back together. No, I was just a curious one and humans were the
species of my interest. But such habits were seen as sins to the people that
like consistency, and they point their fingers at people who leave them and I
cannot blame their perspective on the subject. Running is for cowards, they
would say- But they are wrong about one thing. I wasn’t running away, I was
simply bored. As psychotic as it sounds, the human soul seemed to be more of a
mere experiment for my sense of observation.
Then I met
the one person who had none but one demon to fight. Who disregarded the
roughness of the world as a simple obstacle to get over, whose concept was
simplicity, and he fit so strangely into the normal world it was different for
me. He had himself to battle, and no one else and I found that fascinating. But
fascination was never meant to last that long and the more I was sucked into
his thoughts and methods, the more I doubted mine. I made negativity a best
friend, a buffer for my emotions and he replaced it and became something more
instead.
But its
funny how we want things we can’t have and I understand that it was easy at
first. To tell him everything, the constant reports and the process of opening
but it slowly started becoming harder. He was simple, yes, and that made it
just the more worse. He didn’t need it all on him. He didn’t my selfishness
stopping him from everything he ever wanted. I hated answering to anyone, I
didn’t like the restrictions but that was what the relationship put me on.
But each day
passed and I ended up begging him to not leave as much I didn’t want to. I did
not want to be a hoper for forever but the thought of being just another story
he would tell his future lovers scared me. What exactly would he say? That I couldn’t
handle myself, or that I was weak against certain things, or that I was a close
relative of sadness- they were all plausible.
To top that
off, he felt used and I had no idea what to say to it. I was a user for my own satisfaction,
but never did I use him for the comfort of my own being. I hated anxiety and if
comfort was what I needed, it wouldn’t be within a radius of feeling this way
towards a person who was meant to be a passing phase. No, I was with him
because I wanted to be with him.
The night
Skyler came, the way he sat on the couch with his eyes boring on mine was the
night he told me certain things I know he swore upon. It was nothing I haven’t
thought of before. I was selfish, and if I was not to change according to the
situation I was in, dragging him down with me was like stepping down repeatedly
on your favorite flower.
And I love
him, I really do. But love never did change people entirely, old habits die
hard and alcoholics will always have whiskey running through their veins and
their tears will be stained with wine.
Old habits
die hard, and old habits will be the death of both of us.
