A Wall Of Iron ❀

If walls could talk, you’d be a wall made of iron. I was so scared, listening to you speak to me in a way you had only spoken to your enemies. My heart broke at the jagged gestures from your hands, your shaking torso, and the anger in your eyes. You stood your ground like a wall of iron, building yourself up stubbornly to keep me out. You spoke so confidently, words that pulled me apart; but even so I reached through the iron bars of your fortress, hoping a touch could bring you back to me. I hoped that if I pushed through the pain, I could help you remember the love and happiness you had forgotten.

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We were together all of the time, and at that time I felt differently about us. You were my whole world. It was an unwavering reality. There were movies, and sleepovers, and you know that I'm scared of the dark. Ramen, weird games, and exploring the city was so much fun. Your music, my opinions, and the talks about our dreams.

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Matching origami cranes, matching bracelets, and matching charms, courtesy of me. Lots of food, soothing walks, and my games taking up space on your poor computer, all courtesy of you. We showed love in different ways, but I felt like you really must’ve liked me then.

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Because, you reached out and held my hands for hours in my darkest moment. You listened to me. You know more about me than most people. When I was away you came looking for me, just so we could sit together, for what felt like forever, in each other's presence. So I could just sit beside you quietly. Everyday.

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We shared your desk, and it seemed like there wasn't enough room. We liked it though, because back then it was so much fun, we didn’t need the space. Every smile from you was a serotonin rush and every cold shoulder was dismal darkness. I loved you so much it made everyone sick, but they couldn’t understand the way I felt about you. It was only us that lived in the tiny universe we made.

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But I guess, no matter how wonderful, no matter how much love there is, all good things must come to an end.

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It was the other day, when you said you didn’t want to sacrifice your personal time to talk things out. Me reaching out to resolve our argument pushed your boundaries. I didn’t respect your needs and your mental health, when I talked about mine. My feelings about your decision, that is to let me figure out our relationship on my own, were not your responsibility. You said that I think you’re terrible. You said I’m just like everyone else. You said that your desire to take space was more than fair, and made it a point to make it feel like my desire to communicate was not.

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You said you loved me. You said we’re not compatible. I said, “I can’t do this anymore.”

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You picked apart our relationship that had once been filled with so many colors, and made it black and white. You’re a wall of iron.

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At that moment I realized what you had done. You shoved me into a box that your trauma had made. I was confused as to why you thought I fit so well into that box; because sitting next to me were all the people you felt had hurt you. Inside that box were memories of your exes, with them all of your stresses, and a sense of betrayal pouring in from the top. I was infuriated. I swear what we had wasn’t anything like that, but you're short-sighted, putting all your suffering into one mixing bowl.

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Right now we live in two separate worlds; two realities based on our fragile-flaky feelings. I wanted so badly to break out of the box; time and time again I spent trying to pull you down to Earth with me, but it was easier for you to sit up in the sky, surrounded by the clouds of lies, you made for yourself to feel comfortable.

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You built iron walls to protect yourself, and once upon a time I was on the same side of that wall, standing stubbornly with you. After months of holding back, I lowered the gates and walked to the other side. I wanted to show you that it was safe for you to be on my side as well. But when you saw the distance from me to you at that time, you got scared and ran the other way. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to love me. You’ve forgotten who I am; what I'm like. You’ve forgotten all about me. You forgot on purpose.

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A part of me just wants to go back to those simple days, when you’d pull my chair closer to yours, because back then “not enough room” was still too much space between us. I wouldn't say any of this if I thought there was something we could fix. Right now, I think my love for you means nothing, and your love for me is buried too deep to reach. It’s all gone.

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When you were vulnerable in that brief moment I shouldn’t have held your hand. I shouldn’t have let your pain stop me. I’m going to say “I can’t do this anymore,” for the last time.

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But you know, I still love you.