the delicate danger/dangerous delicacy

TW: toxic relationship and/or mental health impact of the patriarchy 

what is most wondrous of it all is the balance; a most visceral and vehement hatred, negated by the overpowering strength of the admiration and strange attachment. a balance that leaves you with only oblivion to the hurt they caused. 

you have a few moments that you desperately cling onto, press rewind on, like ten seconds back on a video meant to distract you from your thoughts. the thoughts that lead you astray, make you succumb to the fabrications of your craziest self, your most viscous and resentful self. so you play those moments again and again - you play them like a story, a movie, a tale, but one you cannot tell. 

and it’s not even that profound, nor special or secret. but the hurt is so strong, the cluelessness so ingrained in you that you feel a sting in the veins, tunnels and receptors of your entire body. each night, you fold over into the fetal position because of the fear that the probability of this hurt being told to the world comes close to 1. it’s the only physical feeling that keeps you safe, the only one protecting you from the wandering eyes of others, ready to pounce and devour you at every possible occasion… but that’s a story for another time…

you think back at those times, the mere glimpses and subtle stares, the moment when your bodies brushed each other, so briefly but so clearly and crisply, that when the fabric of your clothes rustled against each other for only a split second, there was a minuscule eclipse, one of those insignificant collisions that become the microcosm of a magical fraction of one’s life story.

you can feel your skin prickle and tingle in the spots where that person’s body weight and heat leaned against you, where they touched you, for laughs and for consolation. there were glances that felt like an eternity, but only lasting multiple seconds, where their eyes peered into yours and captured moments of your life to examine you, reassure you and understand you. 

this hurt is dangerous. you forget your worth and cripple. and yet you are also shut down, no actual emotion develops in you. you live through quick rushes and immediate satisfactions, ones no more worthy than the next, only to substantiate your day and drown out the endless train of worries and doubts that float along your stream of thoughts. there are no more tears, no more ways to feel the divine cathartic release of screaming your pain away, washing it out of you with the salty water pouring down your cheeks. no song nor movie gets you there anymore. nothing. 

nonetheless, there is this attachment to this person, one who has relentlessly hurt you and now haunts you. called for you, complimented you, showed care for you, the only one who you ever felt really has, for you. and yet you are the fool because one day to the next, this person ignores you, leaves you in the dust. but their friends know about you, so maybe you are kind of important. but they also have not spoken to you in a while…

so now you are the idiot, the idiot who fell for a made up story. 

every little breath you take, you imagine an alternate reality. 

you remember the small talk, everything from night changes to your favorite snack. dumb stuff. when they grabbed your hands and held them tight. when they smiled and both your eyes twinkled. when one said something comedic, and the other couldn’t hold back their genuine laughter. little moments like these when all problems in the world quickly vanished, leaving you only this fever dream of a moment, and when only a confetti of freedom paraded your veins. 

it hurts to imagine their intimacy. with everyone but you. with the person you know they hug, they hold. you know that that other person is the recipient of the carefully imagined scenarios, dreams and desires. and it’s not even dirty, or kinky, a word i absolutely despise. it’s the emotional intimacy that manifests itself physically, but in a very pure way. the same way we learnt about sexual intimacy in literature in english class. the kind that is so pure because it is inextricably and undoubtedly part of the same fabric, the same threads that make up emotional intimacy. because that person who feels their caress, their warmth and their love is living the reality that you can only imagine. and you know that they wake up, and don’t even think twice about you. 

so it’s time for you to move on. and slowly, you do; slowly, you are able to. your stomach doesn’t flutter crazily when you see their notification, when someone says their name. you distance your life, realize that you are your own person, worthy of your own love, first. and yet somehow, these little instances still sting like crazy, like there is a magical part of your aura clutching onto the pain they caused, in a masochistic kind of way - because that feeling you felt for them, the achingly dear attachment, was the only feeling you could feel during that time - and it reminded you that you could feel, that you were alive. 

then there is the deep-seated loneliness that ensues. it seems that when you feel the closest connection you think you have ever felt to someone, you lose all other relationships; the energy rays that you emitted from your heart to the various people in your life suddenly converge towards that one person, and everyone else falls into your shadows. except the light only comes from you, the other person doesn’t send it back and you get absolutely exhausted. it’s actually ironic. You don’t get light back, you’re left in the dark; the dark that swallows you up when you try to sleep at night, except these memories keep you up. so really, you’re just trapped. 

there is no renewal, no reciprocity, nothing. and you are left utterly alone, when you crumble into a ball and hide under your covers, with nothing but the weight of your cold winter blanket to give you the semblance of the hug you wish everyone would give you.