so long, my fatal friend.
May. 3rd, 2014 09:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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dear_youDear B,
I'm saying goodbye to you "officially" (whatever that means) on Monday, but I'm writing this to try and sort out my thoughts and feelings and things before I do. I don't want to fall apart on your headstone crying, which would be a) embarrassing and b) sort of me-me-me dramatic. Got to keep myself together, within reason. This isn't about me, not wholly, anyway.
Now and then I'll sort of pause and think "...oh...they're gone..." and just kind of ache. There's so much I wanted to say. I know I'm idealising things, I know you'd not want to hear it and probably tell me to go fuck myself, or something of the like, but...I miss you. As horrible as you were, I missed you. I hated myself for it. But that didn't change it.
What you did was inexcusable, and you went to your grave without ever speaking to me again, but I wish...in an ideal shiny world where such a thing could be possible...that maybe we could have sorted things out. That I could have explained myself to you. Don't get me wrong, I was being a shithead, as well. But don't get me wrong again, I wasn't being as much of one as you were. I never really wanted to hurt you, emotionally or physically or any of that -- I don't have that blood-knight-rar thingy in me that makes me capable of purposefully hurting people. Not big-noting myself (in fact, it's kind of a pain in the arse, really -- I'm so stupidly passive, but you knew that, didn't you?), just stating facts. All I've got anymore is facts. I need to be honest now, I must. That's all I've got left, honesty and your memory.
I just wanted you to forget me entirely if you loathed me so much.
I didn't want you to die. I didn't want either of us to go to our graves without at least coming to some kind of armistice, I never imagined we would. Like that Vienna Teng song, you know? "I know our antebellum innocence was never meant to see the light of our armistice...but how much would I give to have it back again?" That album reminded me of you even before I knew you died.
If I could have five more minutes with you, what would I say? I'd explain my remark, firstly. Then I'd tell you that I felt frustrated and used and that I knew you were lying. And then I'd tell you -- hand over my heart, around the Star That Cross'd Time -- that I still loved you, despite that. Maybe that's what made me the most stupidly passive, that I still loved you even when everything was crumbling to hell around our ears. I honestly did. Back then, I was so ill that I had no idea how to stop any of it or how to repair what was breaking, but I didn't stop loving you. Not for a second, B. I couldn't. I felt like you were in my blood. I only ever get that frustrated with people I love.
Violet to my Claire. "I need more conflict", right?
You'd probably think I was lying, you'd probably still despise me, probably still think I was evil. Probably. Maybe you wouldn't. All the answers to the probablys and the maybes have died with you. I'll never have complete closure. That's something I'm just going to have to come to terms with in my own time.
My life spiralled after our parting, from bad to unbearable, and has only been slowly coming back to some semblance of (knock on wood) okay since wintersummer last year (and even that had its low points. Wooboy did it what). I didn't feel whole until the email I got on the 18th, but it was such a blow at the same time. I think...isn't it silly? I think sometimes I'd rather have a world with you in it, hating my guts, than a world without you in it at all. But things are being repaired now, friendships I thought I had lost forever are still there, held by a fragile but stubborn as fuck red string, and I'm looking forward to making more of them. I'm so grateful for that. I'm happier than I've been in years.
And here's some fairly cowardly truth for you...cowardly because you can't hear it, and I should have told you before everything fell apart. But maybe things would have fallen apart all the same, with worse consequences. We can never know.
But, B, if I hadn't been so...messed up by certain people's supposed interest in me at the time (you were right about that, I'll admit that now, and I was dead dead dead wrong), then the answer to August 31 2k9's statement would have been "Me too. Me too."
I'm sorry, B. Wherever you are now, I hope you're at peace. I hope you're happy. That's all I ever wanted for you, you know. As fucked up and stumbled-tongued and awkward and useless as I was, that's all I ever wanted.
Namárië, meldonya. I'll see you in the West.
Love,
R.
so long, my fatal friend
I don't need this to end
I reimagine the steps you took
still blinded by your intellect
walk me to the bridge, walk me to the bridge
so long, my fatal friend
I don't need this--
I'm saying goodbye to you "officially" (whatever that means) on Monday, but I'm writing this to try and sort out my thoughts and feelings and things before I do. I don't want to fall apart on your headstone crying, which would be a) embarrassing and b) sort of me-me-me dramatic. Got to keep myself together, within reason. This isn't about me, not wholly, anyway.
Now and then I'll sort of pause and think "...oh...they're gone..." and just kind of ache. There's so much I wanted to say. I know I'm idealising things, I know you'd not want to hear it and probably tell me to go fuck myself, or something of the like, but...I miss you. As horrible as you were, I missed you. I hated myself for it. But that didn't change it.
What you did was inexcusable, and you went to your grave without ever speaking to me again, but I wish...in an ideal shiny world where such a thing could be possible...that maybe we could have sorted things out. That I could have explained myself to you. Don't get me wrong, I was being a shithead, as well. But don't get me wrong again, I wasn't being as much of one as you were. I never really wanted to hurt you, emotionally or physically or any of that -- I don't have that blood-knight-rar thingy in me that makes me capable of purposefully hurting people. Not big-noting myself (in fact, it's kind of a pain in the arse, really -- I'm so stupidly passive, but you knew that, didn't you?), just stating facts. All I've got anymore is facts. I need to be honest now, I must. That's all I've got left, honesty and your memory.
I just wanted you to forget me entirely if you loathed me so much.
I didn't want you to die. I didn't want either of us to go to our graves without at least coming to some kind of armistice, I never imagined we would. Like that Vienna Teng song, you know? "I know our antebellum innocence was never meant to see the light of our armistice...but how much would I give to have it back again?" That album reminded me of you even before I knew you died.
If I could have five more minutes with you, what would I say? I'd explain my remark, firstly. Then I'd tell you that I felt frustrated and used and that I knew you were lying. And then I'd tell you -- hand over my heart, around the Star That Cross'd Time -- that I still loved you, despite that. Maybe that's what made me the most stupidly passive, that I still loved you even when everything was crumbling to hell around our ears. I honestly did. Back then, I was so ill that I had no idea how to stop any of it or how to repair what was breaking, but I didn't stop loving you. Not for a second, B. I couldn't. I felt like you were in my blood. I only ever get that frustrated with people I love.
Violet to my Claire. "I need more conflict", right?
You'd probably think I was lying, you'd probably still despise me, probably still think I was evil. Probably. Maybe you wouldn't. All the answers to the probablys and the maybes have died with you. I'll never have complete closure. That's something I'm just going to have to come to terms with in my own time.
My life spiralled after our parting, from bad to unbearable, and has only been slowly coming back to some semblance of (knock on wood) okay since wintersummer last year (and even that had its low points. Wooboy did it what). I didn't feel whole until the email I got on the 18th, but it was such a blow at the same time. I think...isn't it silly? I think sometimes I'd rather have a world with you in it, hating my guts, than a world without you in it at all. But things are being repaired now, friendships I thought I had lost forever are still there, held by a fragile but stubborn as fuck red string, and I'm looking forward to making more of them. I'm so grateful for that. I'm happier than I've been in years.
And here's some fairly cowardly truth for you...cowardly because you can't hear it, and I should have told you before everything fell apart. But maybe things would have fallen apart all the same, with worse consequences. We can never know.
But, B, if I hadn't been so...messed up by certain people's supposed interest in me at the time (you were right about that, I'll admit that now, and I was dead dead dead wrong), then the answer to August 31 2k9's statement would have been "Me too. Me too."
I'm sorry, B. Wherever you are now, I hope you're at peace. I hope you're happy. That's all I ever wanted for you, you know. As fucked up and stumbled-tongued and awkward and useless as I was, that's all I ever wanted.
Namárië, meldonya. I'll see you in the West.
Love,
R.
so long, my fatal friend
I don't need this to end
I reimagine the steps you took
still blinded by your intellect
walk me to the bridge, walk me to the bridge
so long, my fatal friend
I don't need this--
