wedding_special
two of my close friends are getting married in november and i want you to come with me. as a date, maybe. but only if you're free.
i'd drive us down on the friday evening, try to make reasonable time, reducing the risk of encountering particularly bold kangaroos on country roads. we can stop at karoonda and stretch our legs– i might even indulge myself and go on the swingset. we'd stay at my grandparents', a block away from my childhood home. in the morning we'll get breakfast and i'll give you the grand tour: a montage of places from my childhood, just like i always wished i could show you. maybe i book into see my old hairdresser, the mother of a childhood friend, and you come too. she'd tell you stories to try to embarrass me, she'd ask you questions about yourself, and as we leave i'd ask you what you thought of her. you'd say something like, "she was funny."
i'd be nervous about you meeting all those new people, but you'd be fine. you'd make a good first impression. you'd chat with sarah about cameras, and she would be glad to see me happy again. we'd dance, and laugh, and drink, and we'd leave with smiles on our faces. on the way home i'd tell you i'm glad i asked you to come along. you'd squeeze my hand and agree.
but you'd be busy that weekend. the idea of leaving town for a few days would make you antsy. even if you agreed, it wouldn't go the way i've imagined.
all my feelings for you are muddled, nothing is straightforward. it hasn't been simple like it used to for a long time now. the last time we shared a bed, the only fondness i could detect was a blend of loneliness, and nostalgia for what we used to have. every conversation is an indulgence in reminiscing something that was lost. all your gestures of affection stem from the thorns of impulsivity, or worse, the fear that you've finally pushed me away for good.
you mused last week about your past relationships, how so many of them just blew away on the wind. honestly? you do it to yourself. it hasn't been easy digging my claws into the dirt to resist that. sometimes it feels like the universe is laughing at me for continuing to hold on.
the only things you keep up with are your obsessions. those you'll go the extra mile for. things used to be so easy, and i'm beginning to think that they're not anymore because the novelty has worn off.
so why do i feel so conflicted about finally accepting a battle i've likely already lost? you're a creature that feeds on the energy of potential: craving what could be, ignoring what is. standing there, waiting for something to happen.
why does it feel bad to admit i'd probably enjoy asking her along with me instead.
two of my close friends are getting married in november, and i don't think i want you to come with me.