We long for the things we cannot have. We seek new beginnings but fear the end. We fear and worship the free will in ways we don't always understand and we always want more. Always more. That longing is a burden; a fuckin' curse for lack of a better word.
I'll always long. I can change that, but I shouldn't. I won't. You can't.
It's like wishing for an unspoken truth to be a lie. It's like that feeling in the pit of your stomach, that sinking sensation you experience when that longing turns into something real but out of reach. Close enough to remind me of the choices I've been faced with; the ones I ignored and the ones I took. I fight this addiction constantly, but pretending you're not hungry or thirsty - it does things to your mind. Ignore the fever and save yourself. It's so damn hard. Just ignore it. Ignore us.
But I can't. I cannot forget.
I could've chosen a different path, I guess. A new direction. I could've handled it differently and broken every rule there is. I know how it goes, we all do. Yeah ...
When is it time for a fucking savage like me? You all think I'm this courageous person, that nothing can touch me or change me. You say you want to follow me. Why? Why would I want that when all you see and accept is the surface? I'm too lost in me to even know where I begin. Sometimes I get the feeling that it's like being blind and deaf. Like you're alive but not really there. I'm here but there's still this wall between what I am and all the different things I could've been. That I could be. How could any one understand even if I tried to explain? Would they ever believe that it scares the hell out of me? I'm afraid of what's on the other side. I'm afraid I'll fall and there won't be anyone there to catch me.
I'm afraid she won't be there.
When won't the thought of you be like a sore scar? When will this fever go away? I don't know. I wish I did.
It was never part of my plan for things to get that far - to feel something. To want it with the same burning desire you feel when you have the chance to alter history. I don't want you to go. We were never part of my plan. Not back then. Not now.
They see me smiling, determined and ready to go hunting. I've got the map and a compass and supplies - everything I need to make it there. So I keep telling everyone that this is something I need. I need to figure out my past. So I keep telling myself. I need to know what came before all this.
But what if I don't need fifteen years of forgotten memories? What if all I need are new ones? What if all I need is to turn this bike around and head back south?
What if it's not something sick; that pinch in my chest and clench in my gut I experience when I see her laughing with her friends. As I realize she's happy. When I know she doesn't need protecting. When I know she's a hell of a lot stronger than I am because there's no cowardice to be found in her. When my fingers curl around hers and I hear myself tell her I'll be back. It might not be what they expect. It's what I expect. I told her, all the while staring at the floor. But it was hard, so fucking hard when my hand closed around hers and I felt a part of me etch itself into the palm of her hand. Our hands. It was damn near impossible to keep up the facade when I had to look into those eyes again and see hesitation there. Hesitation and insecurity and a question with a hundred other unspoken ones.
I made a promise I couldn't keep, a lie told out of jealousy. You take and use but never touch. That's what I am.
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