Black Hole

Black Hole

The black hole is not evil, you see, and not even black,
Only in that no light can live inside it,
Nothing can live inside it, no warmth or love,
But it does not mean harm,
Does not mean to disintegrate and dissipate
All light and love

I found that singularity, and I thought
The black hole isn't evil, it means no harm,
And I thought
I could bring some brightness to that darkest place,
And I smiled,
And I saw the light within me,
Disintegrated and uninvented,
Everything bright about me, and everything dark,
Destroyed

It isn't evil, or even black, only to my eyes,
Which expect light, light returned.
The warmth must be somewhere inside it.
That's what I still think.
Flying as fast as I can from that place,
The place we shared,
Flying as fast as I can,
Though possibly not fast enough.

7.31.11

Day 26

It's been twenty-six days since we've had any communication. The last time we went into radio silence, you broke it after that many days, so as we move through today into tomorrow, we will set a new record -- for no one but me to observe -- for days without contact.

I'll confess that, although I've managed to avoid saying anything about what's happened publicly, until I sat to write this, that I've run a dialogue with you in my head this whole time. No, not a dialogue. A monologue. Your input is notably absent. I think you had to know it would be like this for me, given the way you did this, that I'd be left waiting, wondering, addressing the air. I think you had to know. I hate you for doing this to me, again.

If you did contact me, I think I know what I'd have to say:

You only get to kick a puppy so many times before it either bites you or runs away.

I think you're a good person, overall, but there's another person that lives inside your body who is not so good, not so nice. He's selfish and cruel. I've met him a few times and I always made excuses for his appearances, tried to mitigate the awful things he said to me and the thoughtless way he treated me by contrasting him, and the sparsity of his visits, to the other, more visible, more present, nicer parts of you. But this time, by letting the nasty version of you have the last word, or the absence of a word in this particular case, you've left me, for the past month, with no access to the calmer, softer, sweeter you, and so it's been harder to forgive you your jealousy and your temper. Harder. No, it's been impossible.

So now I have two impulses: to try to hurt you back or to get the hell away from you.

I have done petty things designed to sting you, but I've always immediately regretted them, and they don't compare at all to the level of hurt I'd want to inflict now. I don't know if you even have an idea how much you've hurt me, always under the aegis of protecting yourself, always flying that banner. It's not a good enough excuse for what you've done and what you're continuing to do. There's so many horrible things I could say in return, if given the opportunity, but.... I don't want to. Writing this publicly where probably no one will actually see it, well, that's about as nasty as I can bring myself to get. I will always care about you, and the thought of inflicting pain on you brings me no lasting joy. I've been told that I shouldn't continue to care, that you deserve whatever I might want to unleash on you, that you never deserved me at all, but I know the other you. I loved the other you. I always will. That said, you only get to kick a puppy so many times.

That just leaves me the other option.

I will forgive you eventually, of course. As the cliche goes, time heals all wounds. This is just a phase, for both of us. But if we will be "friends forever" as you said just a day before cutting me out without warning, well, I'm skeptical. You didn't trust me, when you could have, and I trusted you, when I shouldn't have. So it goes. This is how it goes.

You wanted a life without me, so that's what you'll get.