assumedly, I tell the world

i miss you.

Sunday, the sun setting today was beyond comparison to anything, I wanted to share it with you.  I wanted to hold your hand. 

Saturday, I put on a brave face and head out at night to engage in social stuff, I bump into your housemate.  After subtly telling him to wipe from his nose the remains of the coke he just snorted, we begin to talk about you, you and I, but mostly just of you.  He tells me of your great heart.  He tells me I should just rock up at your house and hold your hand.  He tells me to lead you to the right side of life.  He tells me this while all I'm thinking is that he has no idea.  My side, his side, your side. There are no sides in this life.  He has no idea that this is what I know.  He tells me to not be a slut. He says that most girls go out and rebel and become slutty.  I check his nose for more coke, there's none, it's all in his bloodstream now. What I don't know is whether it's the coke that's telling me not to be a slut or he utterly has no idea who I am and what I would or wouldn't do.  

That made me feel null and void. That made me realise that it's all just a fallacy.  It doesn't matter. What people assume they know, assume what they can say and assume what a great heart is.  He tells me of your great heart but he has no idea.  When someone you think you may know is someone so far from knowing who you are, this is sadness in our modern age.  Time spent with people means nothing if it's done so blindly. Escapism through moments fabricated.  This is what he knows but is choosing to forget.  My hand to hold is there for you but its purpose is not a reminder of all that is wrong.  It won't lead, pull or direct you to the right side of life. Simply, it's there to touch you, beyond the literal sense. I held your hand before, it didn't touch you.  Your hand in mine was brutally cold, my hand in yours often let go for escapism glassed.  

He tells me to help you but I don't think I can.  In this moment I am guarded, aware and regretfully too sensitive.  He doesn't know this, he thinks I could be reckless and slutty. He assumes these things, yet I have no drink in my hand, I have minimal skin showing and I was on my way to pee in the bathroom because that's what bathrooms are actually for. He tells me that he admired our relationship and that when he first met you he was excited to move in with you as it all seemed so solid and great. He tells me he's not sure if that was my doing because when I left it all went to shit.  He then corrects himself and says it actually deteriorated at a pace and that he saw this happening even when you and I were together.  

He tells me what I already know, once again.  
I too was intrigued and welcomed into solidarity and greatness only to see it deteriorate in front of me, leaving him without the same housemate, leaving me without my soulmate. While he was spending more time away from home to avoid the fast and frivolous downward spiral, I was withdrawing my hand from yours. He tells me that you are trying.  
I know this. 
He tells me that you're meditating.  He tells me that you were even meditating this past Thursday evening.  How greatly he wants you to be in the right space and to make me aware that you're trying. I smile endearingly as I too want this.  Yet, knowing on Thursday your hands were not palm up, they were holding fermented grapes of rebelliousness.  This is then brought to light by my friend who walks past and I see the shock and disappointment on his face as her spoken testimonial shatters his perception.  My friend walks on, she has no time for this.  He then tells me that he and his girlfriend are fighting as she feels his potential new house could be unsafe to visit. He tells me that they are too hard on each other.  

I listen but I don't understand.  
People are too controlling, based on our idealistic and yearned idyllic fabrications of what we want other people to be, what we want other people to mean to us.  We want the world to emulate our ideals and when it doesn't we fight.  We fight to keep ourselves happy. 
I won't just rock up at your house and forcefully fight to hold a fabricated hand. She's fighting for safety yet it's more than that.  She's fighting for where she wants him to live. Where she wants him to be and what she wants him to be. He tells me she's not ready to move in with him. He says, if she did, he could afford a safer home. 
If, another assumption.  
I find it odd.       
At this time I go pee. The bathroom is slutty. 


When you hold someones hand, just hold it.  No forceful direction, just two hands, interlocked, on-par, side by side, together.  That is what I mean when I say I will hold your hand but I won't fight your battles.  Not this battle, mostly.  If your hands were free, free from continuous glasses, bottles, spliffs, more glasses then one would be holding a valiant sword. With your other hand in mine, I would be your princess and we'd live happily ever after.