I started writing this post with a purpose driven by some well-thought out topic.
But my thought process was interrupted by a page of blurred ink-- smudged from the essence of your cologne bottle. A page that came by postage today.
On the blurred page, you apologized for, well, things...
An apology that got me thinking-- sorry? You're sorry? Really, how sorry are you? Are you sorry for your actions? Or sorry for my reactions? I feel the latter is more plausible, and the stink that fills my lungs as I rip open this 81/2 x 11 only verifies my concerns.
Still, moments later, the page is across the room, begging me to redress the wounds that have long since turned to scabs and scars. The scent is wafting-- my senses are driven into a sort of turmoil. My reaction is nausea-- it is simply too much to handle.
Yet, through all of this senseless confusion, I am still able to make sense of intention. The ache that is beginning to reel in my head can't make my perspective any less clear.
That's one thing I've learned since that day.
To see through you.
Use your words, go ahead, tempt me. Convince me. I dare you. I've heard it all before. Manipulate my emotions-- it's been done. Mind games? Expectations? Tears?
Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.
I suppose you thought that your "Chrome" would get me thinking about things. Remembering things. Remember you.
And you were right, I suppose.
But shouldn't you have also supposed that perhaps I could see right through the blurring scent?
There's some things about me you should know by now... and Am I not smarter than that?
I guess you didn't expect that anger would be the primary emotion to accompany those memories that invaded the stillness of my mind with its wave-making scent. And maybe that's my fault. Maybe I wasn't clear enough the first time. Or the second. Third. Maybe my words, my expressions, followed by my silence were faulty in conveying the message I sought to communicate.
But, maybe it's not my responsibility anymore.
I sound harsh, I know.
But I'm really just scared, confused, insecure, and stocked-full of inability.
But I'm not just vulnerable-- I'm angry.
I've made an alloy of myself and time; I've place steel beams in my current decisions; and I am ready to face even the strongest of quakes. I can handle the past, I can handle the present, and I have faith in the future.
And no chrome obstacle is going to get in the way of that.
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