I haven't slept in what feels like decades.
That is beside the point. Anyway...
What is it that other people do that doesn't leave a bruise? I have been finding it difficult to cope with the things around me. It's tough to concentrate when the same person has been on my mind for weeks. Someone that I want to forget, yet, at the same time, hold closer than anyone I have ever met. I can't understand it, but what I do know is that eyes are the windows to the soul; but what if the windows are coated with a fog? What if, try as you might, you can't see through the window, and you are forced to throw out the biases, the stereotypes, the blatant "he said she said?" What if you are forced to make your own call?
What if you are wrong?
What if you are wrong about being wrong?
Dizzy. That's what I am. Dizzy.
Also beside the point.
Every day, I hope that you are alright. Every hour, I think about you. Every minute, I breathe deeply, and when I sleep, you are in the back of my mind. I saw you once a man and then a monster. The most terrifying experience of my life. For hours I held you up, I held you down and I lit your cigarettes. For hours I spoke to you. For what? You didn't even know that I was there!
You didn't even know that I was there...
I just want to let you know that there is a way to be good again. There is a remedy. There is a cure. I do not want to stare into the sick and speechless eyes that I gazed deep into for hours that night. I never want to see the man in the shadows, or that boy, Vitaliy, who followed me that late night (or early that morning) on the streets while I stumbled back to safety. You put me through those dangers. YOU!
Yet... there I was at the hospital for you. For the second time. Trying to save your life. It is time that you give a fruitful effort, or you will be found dead on the street.
I never want to see you that way again... if I should ever see you again. I can find it somewhere deep and uncharted in me to understand you. To never forget this is key.
And after all of this, yet not enough of it to really matter, “I [wonder] if [this is] how forgiveness [buds]; not with the fanfare of epiphany, but with pain gathering its things, packing up, and slipping away unannounced in the middle of the night.”
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