This is an uncomfortable situation. When you’re conditioned to constantly feel pain and take it as a part of your existence. Then an outside force comes in and invades that space, bringing to life an alternative you could have never have imagined for yourself. No, you think, those thoughts and feelings and realities are for other people. But not me.
How many times did I observe the happy ones, sitting in my empty corner, sipping a glass of wine? And go home with an ache so potent it left me naked and raw. It’s a violent thing that turns into a dull thing and then I become it. Pain has always been my lover. It doesn’t allow me to move beyond its realm. It’s jealous of a life outside its domain. I was in an abusive relationship with Pain for years. Would go out into the world pretending like everything was manageable. Meanwhile, behind closed doors, Pain beat me up and told me it was for my own good.
It was a Thursday evening when you stood by the pub we agreed to meet at. I didn’t notice you right away. You were just another. And I was too busy inside my head to care. Let’s get this over with. And I can move on. But the plot thickened. An invisible power I couldn’t resist. My face cracked a smile. And then another. And then I heard laughter in my ears. It was my own. My own voice filling the pub with the vibrations of a happy human. I was happy. Fucking hell. I noticed you. And the wall that Pain had put up all these years, that sturdy wall, began its deterioration.
God created the world in six days. Seems like so little time. But these are things I understand now. You and I created our world in six days. There was nothing but darkness before. Albeit a state of readiness. There was an energy contained. Two forces collided. And then became a universe. This universe is expanding, creating new thoughts and floating into the unknown. Who knows how far it will go.
Pain is jealous. Pain wants to sneak in and obliterate it. So Pain brings in Doubt. Pain brings in Insecurity. They seduce me when you are away. And I begin to feel that familiar thing inside me. It’s okay, they say, we’ll take you back. We’ll have a nice orgy and then you’ll be yourself again. But I am not myself anymore. I am half of us.
There is the seventh day. The day of rest. Today. It’s like the turning point, isn’t it? The interruption of what we created, the end of it, or perhaps we keep expanding. Either way, I am weak. I submit to Pain and its gang of deformed emotions. Or I submit to you, a riskier choice.