Here or there

Where is it?

Where is the remorse, the need to undo the wrong? The desire to take away my pain, to clean and dress my wound. The feeling to rebuild my self-esteem. The humility to admit that I have human needs.

Where is the hug to make this bed feel less like daggers, the kiss to show me I was loved? The confession to my friends and family that my feelings were not unfounded, that you loved me too, that they might look at me as something more than a dreamer fool.  The decency to not guilt me for needing space now from this shame.

Where is the re-assessment, the tally of times I gave you my all? The apology for spitting on my words and leaving me with the sorrow that I didn't work hard enough for you - you, the thing I wanted most in life.  The hindsight that I gave you the space you asked for to find me. The gentle lie to make me feel like we were once a thing, like there was a place in your heart that was just me and you and that it beats?

It's not there.

It's not there because this is not remorse you feel. This is sorrow. You sorrow for what you have lost but not for he who has lost. Sorrow that you have had your last of me, not that I have had my last of you. Sorrow because you have hurt me not because I am hurt. Because I am not in your life, not because I am not influential in my own. Remorse is too expensive, and you know I can't pay you back, so why bother?

Why hug me if I will not hug back? Kiss me if I won't understand why? Tell me words that won't change my mind, or yours? You would not put these conditions before a baby or a dog, but before me there are only ultimatums. Before me there is only the condition that I love you and respect your love for another. Only from the well of my sorrow do the waters of remorse flow.

You don't wish to fix me, it shows. Just as it shows that I don't wish to fix myself. All I do is lash this anger at you instead of love at myself. I turn you into the villain of my love story instead of the plot, setting, main character and premise that you were.  I've boiled the water and now you will never cross this river between us. I will never reach you with these words. More things that I do wrong. I'm even ashamed of my disappointment in you. Where is the stoic guru, the peaceful buddha-like teacher, the warrior poet?

So I am here.

Curled in a ball hugging myself, kissing myself, sewing myself together but draining the fluid go. Telling myself all of these things and telling myself that you believe them. Telling myself that I did good, that I loved you too much not too little. That you'll see, you'll see it should have been me. You'll know that my words were actions, that my inaction was action, that I sacrificed the joy of taking your body for the greater joy of sharing it. You'll come to see all of this in me. But how could you?

You are over there.