I’m afraid of how dreadfully potent it is. That it may strike another massive blow right now as I go off on any and all tangents, makes me feel alone. I’m trying to repair the harm I’ve done.
I’ve believed all through my formative years that the passing of the torch and the instillation of faith into a newer generation is one of the noblest and the most satisfying acts a conscious mind is expected to do. It is surely a gift that is passed on with the stains of bloody revolution engraved into its essence but it is also what parents train their children for. That one day they shall embark on a journey of their own choosing and although they may stumble, they are enlightened enough to stand and prepared enough to heal.
The Cold Hearted Son
My parents are outside on an old bench. I heard them say yesterday that they could physically see everything fall apart right in front of their eyes and that they felt very cold. Even if they found a thought that could cheer them up, their son dying right in front of them in the most animate of ways would be sure to drag them down. They feel heavy. I should be feeling lighter. I am a son who was resentful of his family. Too ungrateful even though I was always conscious of how rude I was. I would not change it. We did all the things a good functional family does and they left no stones unturned. But now I realize I should have been closer to them and seen them as complicated passionate human beings who were capable of the same emotions I had and in the same magnitude. Neither of us showed anything but I expected them to know when I was unhappy or exhilarated or if I needed attention. I wish I can tell them that everything they’ve done has always been enough and that I love them.
The Friend Who Wanted More
I have a crush. I think I love her. I’ve always thought telling her would be a lot easier if I was on my deathbed. Yes, I’ve actually fantasized of being in this exact position. After all, she couldn’t refuse a dying young man who was confessing his love for her. Also, it’d be a lot easier for her considering anything that would be said would not have lasting impacts for the lack of witnesses and my dire fate. But maybe doing that would be judging her a less complex person than she truly is. Also, I realized that in moments of the ultimate confrontation with everything that is divine, I would be thinking about the things that could be, not the ones that were: False things. False memories.
The friendship we’ve had has grown on me. Nobody knows about the cancer except for mom and dad. In the beginning I thought I’d tell her…but now that sounds selfish.
Our friendship is what I should pass with. Talking till the late hours of the night left us drooling for more. Holding her hand because it was only natural and nothing else, making her laugh, laughing at the jokes she thought only she could find funny, crying at how beautiful she was, holding her while she cried and all of them…. We had history, opportunity and true love in the sense that there was something there close to my heart and soul as opposed to something that could have been. Maybe I should have told her when I had time. Maybe if there was enough time, we’d fall into love without having to say anything. But there wasn’t enough time. And I have to accept that WHAT WAS, WAS ENOUGH.