I saw you today. Strange, how I recognized you instantly. I don't think you saw me. You looked as worn down as I felt. Like a piece of taffy stretched just a bit too far. And then I felt the memories flood my mind like a tide that had been held back for sixty-one years, and was just now let to flow back on to the beach.
I'm sorry I forsake you.
I knew I lost you that night when he walked into the room. And I knew it was wrong, but I loved you so much. I cared only for you. I only wanted what you wanted. So I did what I thought you wanted. I ran.
I'm sorry that I left you.
I left your kisses. I left your touch. I left your rambling, wandering, philosopher's mind. I left you quiet demeanor, I left your curls. I left your good looks. I left your god damned divinity.
I'm sorry. I did forget you.
Yes, and I'm sorry, but I even made myself forget. When I got home, crying in the doorway, my sister came to me. She knew where I'd been. She always did. She held me and assured me that it wasn't my heart I could feel breaking. It was just a fling. A lonely girl and a poor newsboy… It could never work. It would never work. Even he wasn't there, it we would have no future. So I let her convince me. And I forgot.
And I'm sorry that I made myself feel
better
By making you feel never good enough.
And now that I think about it, I was pretty horrible to you. Not… not blatantly. Not outwardly. I didn't try to bring you down. But I know I did. All I could ever talk about was my other life. Because, you know, you weren't good enough for my other life. All I could talk about was my beautiful, comfortable life. Well, it was all I knew. You were just a street rat, just something the cat dragged in. That's what I kept telling myself. I let you in, telling myself the whole time that you needed me and you needed a good deed. My falling in love was through no fault of my own. I was giving myself to you out of charity. But you didn't need me. You needed no one but him.
I know you'll shine much brighter than I
ever could.
But now that I have grown up, I can see that what I really was was jealous. I was jealous of your wits. I was jealous that your life required wits. I think, somewhere, subconsciously, I could anticipate the rotting of my brain. Yes, my brain. That thing up there that only got exercised when I was with you was trying to save itself. My perfect life was just a tad too perfect. So here's my pearl of wisdom: Never seek perfection. Once you've hit the top, it hurts to go down (dignity, you know), and you can't go up. All you can do is rot. But you! Why, you had spirit, subtle, soft eyed spirit. It was the kind that hides under your perfect, weathered olive skin, the kind that betrays itself in your truthful eyes, and undoubtedly, the spirit that lead him to you.
Maybe that is why I was
Scared of you (and in everything I do I'm still thinking of you) oh, you.
You, my dear, my one, my only… you scared me. You made me want to step off my high, white stallion and descend to your level so I could have the fun of climbing back up. You made me want to be a street rat. You made me feel guilty. I had the high life. What right did I have to dream of something lower? (So strange to think of it now.) And then he was the last straw. The one thing that told me you were truly different from me. Truly alien. It told me that by being with you I was doing something wrong. You and him… it wasn't right, but there was a strange beauty to it. A beauty I wouldn't let myself recognize. A beauty that scared me.
And I know you were scared of me
(but every time I tried to love you I just fell through) too
I could have told about you. You told me things you wouldn't dare tell another soul. About things you did. Money you stole. And it was a lot, enough money to get you off the streets, if your conscience let you use it. You even told me about these feelings you were having. Feelings of lust, of love. Then guilt. You never told me who (though I could easily tell it wasn't me, I ignored the thought). And then that day I realized it… that day he walked in and screamed at you to get away from me… I knew it was him you loved. As I looked from your beautiful eyes to his one livid one, I realized I had two choices. I could have run screaming down the stairs that you were a queer (even worse, because I knew you liked girls too). I could have done it to spite you. There was nothing holding me back. In fact, you knew I probably should have told every one every despicable thing you had ever done in your life. But I didn't. I just ran. Never to return.
Looking back, I don't see what was so wrong. But things have changed. Times have changed. I am an old woman now, and you, an old man. So why do I write this? You'll never see it. I suppose I am sorry. Fear is something that plagues humankind like a virus. Contagious and dangerous. Its something that tore us apart, something that haunted me for many years.
A few fleeting months of memory. A few months of memories filled with cheep beer, soft kisses, rambling, lazy talks slip around my mind. A few memories of messy bunkrooms, vivacious life, hysterical youth, and of the one person in my life I could call a friend dance around the edges of my whole life.
It's gone, it wasn't enough, but… We were scared.
And fear broke us both.