The Open Matt Project

Broken Heart, You Win.

Tonight gnashed its way through, lolling eyes and slavering jaws expected and delivered. Time is my ally, my closest friend, my confidant and my advisor. Time rapes my journal. The intent of writing what is real is rendered useless by shift. shift. shift. shifting senses of what's real. What matters.

I thought I would be able to endure the undescribable pain of her loss, that given time I would eventually die and my hated breathing would continue past my expiry to reveal whatever comes next. I embraced that what was had been only a dream, a lie, a phantom created by and nourished by my own need to believe in things that simple didn't exist. I welcomed death and I died gladly.

So this appears a surprise to me. I know who I am, I know what I am capable of, I enjoy waking up to being this creature. I tease myself about how I used to care about that worthless, futile pasttime that the husk cared about. Really? That thing? That thing is what reduced you to that sobbing pile for the past months? Really?

Look, Matt. Look at who you are and what you were before you threw yourself into the toilet. You see? Right. So much, so much passion and so much hope. Wasting it was not something you could have seen then, but you can see it now. You've let it burn, and good riddance. That creature feeds on meat you could not supply.

Two years of time added to the roster of degradation doesn't actually seem that much, but that I am simply tired of it. When I was younger it was just a silly mistake, but now it is the only thing I regret in my life. I've lived long enough to regret ever wasting my time on that thing, and accepting the price of my folly stings yet.

I miss her. I hate it and I hate it and I hate it. The time enduring Denali's loss was beyond endurance at the time, but pales in comparison with finding a space in my heart for the black hatred I feel as it lives as a torch to keep my love alive. I am reduced by this miserable cycle, and reduced further by that I chose it.

The measure stands without me, and judges me with no less heat than I would be judged otherwise. I picked that thing. I gave everything save what was needed. I had so far failed to embrace the simplicity of those facts, and cling to a hope that is more horror than relief.

Posted by Matt at December 23, 2010 01:15 AM