I know, I knew, I always knew that you would never run through the streets to find me, to bring me home if I ever faltered.
I never thought that you would abandon me so completely and yet pretend that you didn't.
An unexpected cruelty.
If I thought that a bike ride in the park could really fix it, don't you think I would do it?
But I know that's not the problem.
Your heart's just not in it.
I don't know if your heart's not there for me or if it's not there for anyone, but it's not there.
You could say I knew that from the beginning.
I knew. I did. You told me.
And I know that I'm not holding up my end of the bargain.
I said that I was strong enough to carry you with me and never let go.
But I faltered.
And I'm just dragging you now.
Hitting every rock on the way, unable to move anywhere but into the future, unable to stop or retreat.
Without the strength you take you up again, to lift you up.
And every time I try to find a new source of strength, you thrash and kick and when I finally get you to admit that you're thrashing, when I finally get you to say why, you say it's because I'm paying too much attention to other things, not committed enough to our together time.
Not committed enough to you.
So I abandon my solace in the outside world. I pretend that I can gather strength from you --
a thrashing corpse dangling from my fingertips.
And my remaining options are none but to hang on and drag and drag and kill us both,
or to break my promise and walk on without you.
I would rather die, I think, than leave you.
When I imagine my future, I'm in a white room, alone, and the walls are covered in blood.
But those visions would all go away, I know, if I could just let go.
Or if... .
But, no, I wouldn't encourage that either.
Because if you ever stood and walked, you would only walk away.