A Chicago high-rise was on fire yesterday and I truly thought it was his. I felt concern. Months ago I felt hate...sheer unadulterated hate. I wanted him to die painfully knowing it was a punishment for him killing me 1st.
My feelings towards him are so complex. I try to ignore them all but they keep sneaking back into me. I use to love him. I sometimes loved him more than I loved me. I would write him poems and music...you could feel my love even through my harmonies. Sometimes I was afraid, sometimes irritated. But no matter what, I was so sure.
When I spoke to him this summer, I thought back to my middle-school journal that had his name in every other sentence. He was my 1st love. About being with him for his birthday every year (on New Year's Eve). About being in college, scared out of my wits when he'd not write for days because he was fighting in Iraq. Even my emails and IMs pulsated with passion. About laying next to him as he looked into my eyes and spoke of his future son and daughter. We use to fight about what their names would be.
I thought back to his eyes when he came back from Iraq. Something had died in them. I thought it was the war that had killed the warmth in him but I now realize that it was just me. His love died for me. But we kept going until I realized that his lifestyle was lethal. I was trying to be his "down ass chick" and that shit is cool when you're 13 but at 22, I wanted so much more for him. He told me to wait for him, until he got his life aligned. Until the stars aligned.
A year later, when he told me he was in love...with someone else... I cursed the years spent loving him. The music spent loving him. The poems spent loving him. I cursed him and my dreams. And when he told me his new love was with child a part of me committed suicide.
Yea, I'm having an artist moment. I need people to understand the story...the story of he and I. I won't let him make our remembered lightening into mere lightening bugs. I need lyrics, chords, rhythm and silence so complex...so perfect...that it pulls the life out of him whenever he hears it. So perfect that my fans will experience all of it...the love and the pain...again and again whenever it is played.
Now I have to stop being too scared to compose it.
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1 comment:
I'm so impressed you were brave enough to exorcise this in your blog. It takes such courage to be so transparent. You have to really swallow your pride and not care about who sees or says what. You are absolutely right, the pain he caused you will become music, poetry, art, the best kind - the truest kind. You have so much ahead of you and personally I'm glad you did not let a stepping stone become your final platform. And when you are on stage speaking to millions he can watch from his tv, with his baby mama, if she's still there.
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