On the Dock

I thought the worst thing possible was to be alone, watching people walk away from you. But the worst thing possible is almost entirely different. It's being surrounded by people, and knowing that despite their attentions, their smiles, and their touch, that you are still alone.

Okay, so he's been hurt. That just means that he's going to use you as a band-aid. You aren't going to solve jack for him; you're just going to cover it up so he can forget for awhile, but be loose enough for the dirt to get in and infect it.

What are you doing with this guy? And why do you feel guilty about it? You owe allegiance to no one, so don't give me this "but there's..." act. The Mormon is bad for you. Or, rather, you're bad for the Mormon. He's this pure thing, and he won't thank you for the corruption. You're doing him a favor by walking away.

And what's this nonsense? You're not good enough for him now? Ugh. You deserve something corrupted now? This is a mess.

And where do you get off saying that he's corrupted? You can't judge jack. People are people, no better or worse, first place or last. Right or wrong, you can't even tell for yourself, so don't go imposing it on other people. Set your own moral compass to the North Pole first.

I feel sick and shivery, and I felt it start even as his lips caressed my neck. I knew he was using me. I knew he would use me. And yet I cannot fault him for it. There are certain liberties allowed to those in pain.

I cannot imagine my world being ripped from me so completely as his has been.

So, I quietly (or not so quietly) allow him what comfort he wishes to take. If that's all I can give, then I do not begrudge him it.

What I begrudge is the conflict it inspires. Geez, mind, body. Start communicating in something other than nonsensical screams. Take turns talking and work it out. It's not like I can call in a mediator to help you solve your problems, and in the meantime, I am being cleft in twain.

I just want to dance. When I dance, everything makes sense. I don't have to worry that I'm making the wrong choice, because there is no wrong choice. There are missteps, sure, but those are normal, laughable. They're right, even as they're incorrect.

So, I'm going to go and move a little. After all, dancing makes everything fall away, leaving only the right choice. If I dance, it will all come clear.