the surface

11/29/2006
tiffany

you didn't answer the phone.
i know what you're going to say. i know how you're going to say it. i know it's over. but i have to hear it from you to believe it.
you didn't answer the phone.
and now i've drowned you in rum and cigarettes, pushing you ever deeper below the surface. holding you there as long as i can stand the burn. knowing you will fight your way back. somehow you are stronger than i- you, who claimed i made you safe. you are the more resilient between us; you always return.
you didn't answer the phone.
i hate you for it. this internal struggle created by my intense love and detest for you is tiring me out, wearing me thin. you grow ever stronger.
why won't you die? why can't i keep you there, under the surface, not allowing you a single breath? why can't i stomach a lesser burn to be rid of the one you cause? the answer, of course, is in your eyes. i look down and i see your eyes- that single unmistakable pair that signaled both the beginning and ending of my life- and i become weak... weak from the guilt, the shame, the memories... from everything that is you.
and i let go.
i close my eyes and clasp my hands over my ears, only to see your gaze as it was that night and hear a rush of voices ranging from whispers to screams- all saying, "i'm sorry. i'm so sorry."
this isn't a life.
this is a never-ending death.
we cannot both survive this. one must perish.
and there you are at the surface, staring at me, reminding me without a single word that you are stronger.