An Open Letter

If you would apologize, just say you're sorry for not calling me yesterday, then maybe I would be OK. Your word is bond, right? Only problem is, I don't think you know that. Only issue is, your non-communicative ways tell me more than anything you could say now. I know you had a birthday party to plan, maybe even a birthday pie to bake, but your actions, like you say, speak louder than words. (So Cliché.) Your inaction, I should say. Don't tell me you want to take me somewhere and then just leave me hanging (how's that for cliché?). I invite you to do something; hell, I invite you to be a part of my life, but you choose not to respond, you chose to abstain. People will forget what you did, they'll forget what you said, but they will never forget how you made them feel. Thank you Ms. Angelou

You make me feel agitated, constantly. For wanting substantial, equal, and fair communication from you, which you consistently fail to give. You make me feel powerless, weak, as if my words and my desires lack merit. You don't privilege my internal being, the wealth I have to give, as I do for you, or would do if you gave me the opportunity, the day, the time. I wasn't lying when I said I'd be there for you. It took a lot out of me, to make that ongoing commitment to you. I said it because I wanted to do it, to be this person for you--accountable. But with you, any promise you give me makes it seem as if you feel obligated. You say you don't know what's good for you, or it's an idea as yet unformed, so therefore you have no idea what you want from me. You give (or you gave) yourself to me because you thought that's what I wanted (which I did), but the taking, the receiving, isn't what makes the exchange sweet. The gift, free of obligation, is, will always be, the most satisfying form of exchange. I just don't know if you and I are capable of such an exchange. I saw it at Burning Man, I've seen it in me brewing inside. With a gift, the only reward is the selfish pleasure you get from making someone else happy. That's powerful. However, your compulsion, your automatic instinct to please achieves no greater happiness for you, I think. You do it because you think you should. Because it's right, for you. Because you feel the need. But do you ever feel pleased afterward, or do you just feel relieved?

That's my deepest fear. The one that staked this relationship from the beginning. Impaled my love and buried it under a the sad déchets of insecurity. Organic matter not close to the heart, superficial worries, the concern that you don't really care for me, but are acting out this charade for fear of my reactions, and pity for my dreams. How many times can you assure me that this is true before I let it go, exhale hope into the air, enliven my senses, begin contributing something back to our union.

I would love to be strong in this with you. But your non-commitment, your inconsistency, robbed me of that core. Feeling like I'm spinning yarn around an empty spool, one half of a whole. Or a quarter, even. I would love to love you. Because I want you to want me. But if you don't know what you want, what does that leave me with? A lot of wishes, unfulfilled. I might as well be crazy (trying the same thing twice and expecting a different outcome).