the knowing

You undo me. Do you know that? You must, unless I've convinced you that you don't. After all these years, you still know my heart, no? Of course, you do.

I'm afraid to put this here, afraid your eyes might pass by this space once and again. Afraid every wall I've built between us will come crumbling down, if you should read this.

But tonight, I'm undone. Black eyeliner smeared below my lashes, wiped onto my fingers. Three hours to respond because I hate the answer as much as you. Hate that I have to say no. Hate that I am always the one to say no. The walls I built on my natural boundaries are heavy, heavy stone. Every muscle aches as I hold them up, wishing I didn't have to haul every boulder and pile them high. Keep them high. To keep us apart.

I wish we were good for each other. We were and we were and were until we weren't. I wish I could have built this stone wall there. Set the we were and the we weren't apart instead of setting us apart. And yet, maybe we never were. Can you answer that better than I?

I hate how much I hurt you, how much I still hurt you, how much you must hate me. And you can say "No, no, no, that's not true. I am fine, never better." And this time I won't believe you. I still know your heart as well as you know mine. It isn't until neither of us hate the no that I can say yes.

Until then, every bone in my body shatters when you ask. Every last breath of mine is drawn when I say no. How to hurt you least is what I measure. You put it in my hands. I am in pieces, but it is in tact.

We think we are forever. Your forever, a hand on the small of my back, the weight of my body laying next to you. My forever, a phone call with a rambling assortment of the day's thoughts, laughter that never ends. Our forevers diverge and never cross. I never need a reminder, you always forget.

You must think how terrible I am now to always say no. I think how terrible I was to never say no. I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn't know until I did. I know now.

There is no undoing the knowing. It undoes me.