the claims of a guy who never learned to commit

[ What am I doing ?
Telling you the story of my life,
by way of a few clues at a time,
here and there, everywhere,
which, when pieced together rightly,
will hold the key to, most likely,
nothing more than another guilt trip .
Telling a story that could in no way
be summed up in one sentence,
without using an outstandingly annoying
surplus of commas to get some point across .

[ Why am I doing it ?
There is nothing else left to do .
There is no humanly possible way
that I can go on with my life
as I know it for any longer .
I have tried seeking advice .
Believe me, there is none .

[ OH . started yesterday ]

Seventeen months ago,
I found an answer to everything .
I found my missing piece,
my other half ..
potentially, at least .
If nothing else, I found a new friend .

For seventeen months,
I have tried .
For seventeen months,
I have continually failed, fallen to the ground ..
but always gotten right back up again .
If at first you don't succeed,
they say, try, try again .

For seventeen months,
I have wondered .
Wondered why nothing ever seemed to work out right .
Wondered whether I made the right choice when I told her the truth .
Wondered whether I should not have lied to her in the first place .
Wondered why I even met her in the first place .

For seventeen months,
I have fought in a constant struggle against fate .

In October,
I began walking the path .
The path to the cold, hard truth .
The path to neverending misery .
The path to the secrets,
the lies, the bitterness .
The path to denial,
brought on by deceiving, by misleading .

In November,
I kept it all to myself .
I really was not sure if this was what I wanted .
But I could not stop thinking about her
nevertheless .

In December,
I let it out .
I found an outlet .
I found someone who would eventually help me through this,
this pain, this aching love, and the hat3 that comes with it .

In January,
I saw a chance .
A glimmering hope .
A hope that would lose itself somewhere in the,
even then slowly winding, vines
that comprised my thoughts, my dreams .
Soon everyone knew my secrets .
Everyone but the one person who probably should have .

In February,
My wishes were shattered .
My bubble was burst,
and the regrets rushed upon me
in an unsurmountable torrent of misconstrued memories .
Messing with my own mind,
augmenting my own pain,
developing my own conflicts,
I panicked .
And I was driven to realize
the true meaning of a love-hat3 relationship .
I was reduced to stifling my anger, my frustration,
to stuffing it in a little box that still holds
the key to rediscovering my past .

In March,
I thought it was over .
I thought I could finally live in peace and harmony .
I thought I could start over .
I thought wrong .

In April,
I continued leading a long-blinded life,
never looking straight forward,
but never turning back .

In May,
I have no idea what I was doing ..
or thinking .
Not watching my back,
some long-expected, warily-awaited tragedy
snuck up behind me and pounced upon me
when it was the very last thing I needed .

In June,
I futilely attempted to somehow wrap up
all of the little subplots
that had joined me somewhere along the way .
I left the past behind me,
though I had a sneaking feeling in the back of my head
that I would revisit it, stumble back upon it,
at some point in the not-so-distant future .

In July,
something happened to me that I could never explain
in less than an infinite number of words .
I'll leave that part for you to figure out for yourself .

In August,
my subconscious sent me a message,
through faint but effectual dreams,
a message I did not think could result
in anything negative, ever .
A message that made me forget how to think twice .
And it would not be the last time I heard this message,
the last time I felt its repercussions
send me conveniently vague emotions,
incomprehensible beyond repair .

In September,
I thought I could end it all with a few words .
But they were misconceived as empty words,
as words that could find a better home
in some country halfway around the world,
and still make just as big an impact .
Truthfully, they were the words that define my life,
but that, for one reason or another,
I had and have always been hesitant to say .

In October,
I tried my best once again,
to convince myself that it was all over .
But now I know I was only fooling myself,
only postponing the inevitable truth .

In November,
I felt something different .
Something new, something unique .
Something amiss .

In December,
I opened up more .
I made new friends,
made new memories,
made new enemies,
made new rivalries,
made a new and extremely proficient
source of confusion for myself .

In January,
I finally realized
that she was not what I truly wanted .
But she was what I needed !
And still do need,
though I know the present odds convey
that it will never be a possibility ever again .

In February,
I second-guessed everything !
I decided I could never let myself be sure of myself,
for if I was, I would become full of myself .
I could never allow myself to follow my heart,
for if I did, I would lose sight of the opinion of my mind .
I decided the chances were slim
that I would ever be able to love again .
At least not like I loved, and still love, her .

Seventeen months .
Now do you believe me ?

I know the truth hurts .
But I have had to deal with it
for longer than you could plausibly imagine .

I seriously cannot imagine life without you .
I have considered telling you everything,
deciding what is the best,
but I know that would include telling you
that it would be best
if we never spoke again .

How do you move on,
when you have already come
to the end of the road ?

Seventeen would be a good place to stop,
if ever it were possible .

Maybe this is not love .
I only wish it were true ..
that maybe I have forgotten what love feels like .
that I wouldn't recognize it if it bxtch-slapped me ..
Or at least I don't know how I would .

But it is unfortunate
that no one cares enough to remind me .

" There is as much difference
between us and ourselves,
as between us and others . "
~ Michel de Montaigne ~