If I left tomorrow, would you come with me?
You had so many questions. Where would you go? What would you do? How would you get there? And I didn't have any answers for you. Just that question. That was all that mattered.
I give you credit, you needed a night to sleep on it. In the morning, a full 8 hours later, you gave me your answer.
No.
And that was it. We were over, without ever having to say it.
Now you have a new girl, and she's lovely. Someone to grow old with, in the same spot. Someone who wants that white, picket fence, 2 car garage, and 2.5 children. An undeniable safety to return to after a long, hard day in the office. Food on the table, or leftovers, at least, in the fridge, waiting for their microwave warm-up.
You'll be happy, Because that's normal, and it's lovely. Safety is a beautiful thing, isn't it? I don't say that in any kind of arrogant, scoffing tone. I really do think it's something wonderful.
But I don't want it. Never did.
That's where you left me, broken-hearted; no hand to hold.
Maybe that's what drives me.
How can you romanticize something so sad? you asked. As though my quest for some ideological freedom was just a sad, lonely girl running away.
Maybe it was.
But it's what I want, and why is that something to be compromised?
Broken-hearted I stayed, till I found someone new. Someone strong and wonderful, and I love him more than I ever loved you. I don't even say that to be mean or hurtful, just as a fact.
But I don't ask him the question.
I already know the answer; I just don't want to hear it.
1 comment:
I'm so late with reading blogs so I realize this is out of date already, but I really enjoyed this and I'm not even sure if it's something you wrote (fiction) or personal but either way I not only liked it but recognize it as exactly how I feel about things too. I want safety and security, but I want freedom too. I don't want to be in the one place forever I want something else.
I hope you get yours.
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