The wound IV - Hope is killing

I've given up. If you'd come today, I wouldn't have approached you, as I promised. You didn't come. And I'm wondering if I'm the reason for that.

And more than that I'm hoping that there'd be a day, sometime in the near future, when you realize how wrong all this is.

There's a misunderstanding. A big one. I want to talk to you, to tell you about it. But I feel that I no longer have the right to walk up to you and talk to you.

To tell you that this is just a friendship. It is not romantic love or an affair heading to marriage. It is friendship. But a real one, not a social one. A friendship where there's trust and care. There's a bond. The kind of bond that one can form only with people who have a pure heart. And, this bond does not need to take any shape apart from that of a friendship.

It is the kind of bond that you wish lasts for a lifetime. The kind of bond that can kill, if it breaks. And it is breaking, and it is killing.

I don't know what to do next. But to live with the hope that one day you'll understand, and that we'll be friends again.

But this hope makes me want to do something. Something to improve the situation. I don't know what to do. Everything I do worsens the situation. And so I'm getting frustrated. This frustration is hurting me. This hope is killing me.

I live with a heartache waiting for my friend to return. Waiting for you to come and sit with me and talk.

The Wound III

I never thought this could happen to me. But it has. For the first time ever, I've given up.

I'm hurting. The pain is more than it has ever been. And the more effort I make to improve the situation, the worse it gets. And, I fear, that if I make any more attempts and you react the way you have been doing, I would lose whatever control I have over myself. Any may end up doing something that may hurt you. And, that I would not be able to bear. So, I've given up and chosen to bear this pain instead, even though I still desperately want things to be as they were.

This friendship was meant to be about trust and care, about love, about truth. But the closer I try to come to you, the further I end up from you.

You are lying to me, lying to get away from me. Being with me makes you uncomfortable. And you can't even say this to me. To get away, you lie. Again, and again, and again.

Do you realise how much better it would make me feel if you'd at least trust me enough to tell me what's on your mind. Why is it that you're uncomfortable being with the same person you once liked to be with.

All I need from you is to talk to me - with your heart, not your brain, to be happy to see me - a real smile is what I need.

Just a week back you said, "You're such a great friend." Don't you understand friendships are not about one person being a great friend, it's about both? A friendship is only as great as the lowest common denominator - the friend who values the friendship lesser. And I don't aspire to be a great friend. That should come naturally. I want our friendship to be great. I want you to reciprocate.

I asked you to help me find my friend, and our friendship - the friendship that was supposed to last a lifetime. But you didn't help.

I want to cry. To cry my heart out. But I can't. Because to cry too I need a friend, a friend just like you. I can wait. For as long as you want me to. Till then I'll live with this pain.

The wound II

Every day, every single day, I wake up with a heart ache. My mind is thinking about you, and my heart... it is hurting. As if a piece of it has been pulled out.

The piece that I gave to you, one of the most wonderful friends I've made in the recent past. It has gone missing. And what meaning is left in life without it? If someone who knows me as well as you do doesn't understand me, what can I expect of someone else.

Why did this happen? Have you thought about it? Probably not. It seems you don't even care. Your reaction, and your behavior in general, makes me feel that all the memories of you and me that I have in my mind are mere figments of my imagination.

It's as if I'm a schizophrenic - I'm forming memories of events that never happened, of love and care that was never shown to me, of a bond that never existed, of friends who never were.

Or has the world, including you, become amnesic? Selective amnesia, it is, perhaps. The tendency to remember all hate that you've shown and you've been shown and the tendency to forget all love that you've expressed or felt.

But then, does it even matter what it really is? Because irrespective of what it is, the current situation is that I'm dying, and I'm dying alone because you are not with me. And, that you don't even seem concerned.

The wound

You are scared I think. Anybody would be. To a layman, a complicated person like me normally appears to be crazy. But then you are a psychology graduate. You should understand, you are supposed to understand - I'm just complicated, due to a fucked-up life. I may talk rough, and maybe even behave oddly at times, but I care for you. Can't you see I've never caused you any harm, can't you understand I never will? I'll leave you the moment I feel I may do anything that could cause the slightest harm to you.

I told you about the wound today, hoping that you will then be able to understand why I behave like I do. And that our friendship could be, as it once was. But you've chosen to go away. I can feel it. Even though you say that you intend to stay. Do you realise you're taking a piece of my heart with you? Or are you trampling it under your foot? Are you doing this intentionally? No, its not possible - you can't do this to me.

It is disheartening that things turned out this way. You were healing the wound that has existed for years now. You just didn't know it. With time I had gotten used to the wound. My smile had become impenetrable, giving no one any kind of access to my heart. Then I told you. That you didn't know how important you, and our friendship, are for me, just felt wrong.

And when you came to know, you chose to leave. The wound is open again. It isn't even dressed. It is hurting more than it ever has. I'm not sure whether I'll survive. All that I wanted from you was to just be there. By my side. No need to say anything or do anything, but just give me the feeling that you are with me, that you care for me.

But you chose not to. This time it feels like it never has before. I feel weak and beaten. Chances are the wound will win this time and life will give up. Even if I manage to survive, to stay alive, the damages maybe just too much, any chance of a normal life seems impossible.

Not all feelings fade away with time, some grow stronger


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