Tala

(This was created six months ago. )

I’ve been putting this off for a while now.  It’s been almost four months now and I feel so tired and sick with dealing this inside my head.  I’ve got no clear reason why it took me so long to understand the way how things have happened.  Perhaps, I am still weighing out a lot of things – a thousand things, I guess – in my two hands that I had hoped that the answer will come easy, that I just have to wait things to get over themselves, wait things to get tired, and just sleep on them…. I was wrong.  Now I got so tired of keeping things in balance.  I felt now like, aside from keeping them from falling out of my hands, I am also balancing myself on a thin rope, trying to keep my gaze on only one direction, but I kept on looking back.  I quiver with the slightest movement.  I became insensitive.  I’m glad that my friends are with me all the time, all these toughest times. 

I know by now that you know now how to sleep normal: like no things creeping up inside your head, no worries, not any stress.  I didn’t know how long you’ve been weighing on things, too.  (I have an only a vague but interesting idea that I just want to keep it by myself.)  What I know was that I tried to sleep the words that text told me that night, after deleting it, thinking that I was only dreaming (that real things happen in complete opposite), thinking that you yourself do not believe the things that you just said, thinking that you were only wanting attention.  In short words: I unminded them, although the beats of my heart were screaming, trying to come out, now stuck in my throat that I just want to die.  As I reread them, I felt the darkness that surrounds me closing in, that the bed I was laying in hovering in a state of nothingness.  I cannot hear a sound, I cannot utter a word.  I was shocked I didn’t know what to do.  I slept it off.

But things didn’t go as I wanted them to be.  The morning didn’t promise a better day.  The sky was less cheerful even though the sun was shining bright and steady.  It struck me.  It was no dream.  That time as I recollect what happened that night it seemed that black clouds began to assemble right above me and invisible rain came pouring down. 

The thing was, and I am not proud to say, I was afraid to let you know what I was feeling that time.  Million thoughts wove in by the second, each presenting a possibility or two, not a single of them has the will to weave out, filling every corner in my head.  I felt I am about to explode bottling them up.  By the end of the day, one thought remained:  You were gone.  You ended it.  I can try to take you back.  I might succeed, I might mot.  But you gave up. You were half-hearted now.  I don’t think that it’ll ever be whole again. 

That’s the reason I disappeared.

I know that I should be blamed, but during the first few months of the breakdown I was trying to create a fact (or an imagination) that you were the one that should take it.  I believe that for some months, thinking that that would satisfy my ego, that I can be the hero of the story if I ever happen to tell the tale, taking the pat on the back or hearing some words of comfort.  I felt amused and even lifted being the main character.  But that didn’t mean that I have you taken the viler part.  For most part of the months that we’ve been together I think that you realized that I am good person, and now that we’re not together anymore, I am not going to be better than that.  I am a good person; that’s my biology, and I can’t fight biology.  I respected you, and as I have told you, I have given you the respect my mother was getting from me. 

But I am only human, though a good human.  A human who makes mistakes, creates mistakes, gets away from mistakes and allows mistakes to take over him until he’s down to the ground, flat and shaking and there’s no other way but to get up and try to right the mistakes, and uncreate and accept and resist them.  And yes, the fact that I made myself the hero of the story, I can’t get away with the temptation to imagine some things and recreate your character.  For most part of the breakdown months you were Severus Snape.  But you know Snape, he is cruel and vile, for most part of the story, but in the end he has the best of the intentions – the most humane of intentions, that he can face death without those best intentions leaving him.  You were Severus Snape, you were vile and cruel during those times, and I realized that, it seemed, at the end of the day, you have the best of intentions.  Leaving me was the best option in your sea of intentions. 

Now, I am left with this letter.  As a song goes” “It makes me happy to use you a little in this very last letter to an old lover.”  But that song’s succeeding line is not applicable to you or to me or to the situation.  I am not glad that you were gone.  In fact, there were a lot of pictures in my head right now based on some what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.  But I know that you don’t want things to go on that way.  I, also, would not want to dwell in the past.  Those were gone, a memory of something good, of something bad and of something that happens to human like us.  I wrote this letter to say goodbye.

So, goodbye. 

I know that this sound awkward and a little too foolish.  I just realized that there was no proper ending to our story.  As you know, every story has an ending, good or bad.  Every story has to end with either a period or an exclamation point.  It should not be ending with a comma (a pause) or a question mark (a doubt).  I thought it’d be awkward because it’s been so long and I didn’t speak out.  I thought it’d be foolish, because I may sound too dwelling in the past and too not moving on, and this may occur to you as I am blaming you or something.  Please don’t get me wrong.  You are the longest and the realest thing that has ever happened to my life and I don’t want the memory of that to go to waste.  I wanted that memory to be intact and whole.  This is a story that I can tell to my children to tuck them in bed at night, to reprimand them about how to hold the one they love, want and need them so they’d not go away or they’d come back, to take things seriously when it is basically serious and to cherish the things of the past but not dwell on it.

Tala, I end this with a smile.