• Map of the Heart and Trail’s End

    by  • March 1, 2016 • To You • 0 Comments

    You left me by text.
    With words of blame and hate you exited…again.
    All for the sake of a phone call you refused to make.

    No surprise.

    Where exists this vacuum which allows only others to be at fault?

    Once again you are hidden. And for the first time I call you coward.

    After all…who the fuck tries to carry a relationship entirely based on texts?!

    I’ve said it before. It isn’t real communication. It’s an illusion of closeness which ultimately can’t work.

    Not if the other person wants real closeness like the sun warms the sands, like the taste of salt lingers on the lips. Not if they want to hear your voice, see if the treasure of your smile still exists if only they, like an ocean in ceaseless patience, can wear down your walls to watch you step through, and allow a real touch to guide you to to the map of their heart.

    A person who loves will call, will actually want to see the person they are speaking with, will show up to places and actually DO things with their loved one.

    But not you.

    So return to hiding in your fortress. Cover up your mirrors so you can’t face the truth: That things you accuse others of…storming violent reactions–it all exists in yourself!

    The most honest thing you’ve admitted is that you were in counseling for RAGE issues. Please, please go back into counseling. For your daughters’ sake if not for your own.

    Perhaps it’s the rage that makes you point the accusatory finger. Because you cannot face yourself.

    You accuse, then block to avoid the other’s answer. Then feeling angry or lonely, you unblock and repeat the cycle. You expect everyone will play the game indefinitely, but soon the players dwindled.

    And this time you have spilled something on the game’s guide, ruined the map…thus you have lost your way for good. And I’ve hidden the whiskey.

    But I expect you will again don your mask, search for another treasure. Communicate only by text or email. Continue your game and be surprised when it doesn’t work out and the other player leaves you. You won’t allow them to guide you. You will blame them and they will discover quickly not to follow you.

    Nobody…and I mean NOBODY…is going to follow you down again. I was one of the last.

    For friendship’s sake, held in my head for years, and for that old smouldering love of you, I ignored the good advice of loved ones, checked my brain at the door to follow a fool’s path…tripping on a smuggler’s lie and the map of the human heart.

    Never again.

    My sisters, my sons, my nieces, friends, know me and show they love me. Hellsbelles; even strangers on distant shores and unknown paths connect more with me than you ever did.

    Yet, I can catch more than a glimpse of myself in the mirror…Bowie was a favorite teacher for a reason.

    I finally, finally faced the truth they told me but I didn’t want to hear: You don’t love me.

    You want to live through text and no real contact, a fantasy of a pirate ship ghosting the shoreline. No planning or real connection, no resolving of things in person or you threaten to leave…you threaten through a note cast over the side in a bottle. You want to control, not to compromise.

    Well I don’t want to live your way anymore.

    So go on and ghost. Set your blocks…

    …but don’t think this time you get to return to safe harbor. I can see it does no harm to you in unblocking and blocking me.

    And for the first time, it does no harm for me to let you go.

    For me to block you in return.

    I don’t have to worry how it might make you feel, or make it better for you anymore.

    I won’t get lost in your quicksand because I’m listening to my guides now. And they say to cut that shit out; that’s it’s okay to expect reciprocation in a relationship; to go ahead and LET THIS SHIP SINK. And they call and are supportive because they love me, and because I’ve earned their respect.

    You haven’t. So go.

    But this time I’ve made it so you can’t come back again. Ever.

    Not with a text. Not with an email.

    I no longer want that phone call nor will wait for that knock on my door. I’ve closed all the loopholes. Not a message in a bottle with a simple hello can get through. The tide’s out, lacy waves burying the footprints of the past.

    You will discover soon that the key to the map has been removed. The treasure secreted away from the return of the ghost ship…She has hidden the box and its contents forever.

    Feet warm in the sand, my hair blowing in the breeze, I taste salt on my lips and my hands shake as I strike the match…but hands of a dozen friends reach out to steady mine. The flame glows strong.

    The map to this human heart is burned, baby.

    I’ll be fine.

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