I Hate You for That

My last words last night were "She's a grown woman. She can take care of herself." Who knew that you would be central to my dreams and a rude awakening?

Yup, I had a dream about you again. You were always facing the other way. But I knew it was you. The way you talked, the way you treated me. It was definitely you. I couldn't get a hold of you, let alone enter into an engaging conversation. There were people around, people that I didn't know. But you knew them somehow, enough to stay along with them, and ignore me.

So I reached the end of my string. It was too much for me to bear. The hurt was still there, somehow. I ended up kicking you on the rear. Then finally you looked at me, with tears in your eyes, asking me why I had done such a thing. I was adamant. You had a nail pusher in your hand, apparently, and tried to stab me with the sharper end. I told you to do it again and again, told you that no amount of epidermal pain can equal the struggle I had inside. You did, and stabbed me. The mystery was that you continued crying while you did it.

I woke up realizing what I said last night. Did it mean at all that I could not forget you? I have forgiven you. I have told you how shattered I was, and still am. To forgive is easy, to forget is as hard as the stones I use to hit my head with.

I walk around, smiling. Knowing that there will be no tomorrow between the two of us. Neither will we be casual friends. Friends, probably, but not casual. But I ask myself too, whether deep inside, there is still love for you. A love, that when left unchecked, will make me the most insane human being who ever lived.