What If...?

What If...?

Even now, with all the vocabulary in the world at my fingertips,

My hand hovers with uncertainty over the keyboard,

As though fearing retaliation -

Emotional, psychological, physical -

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

There will never come a day 

When my hand can hold still

In any kind of interaction,

And I have you to thank for that.

There is so much I want to say to you,

So much that I want to make you aware of,

But that all stems from the sentimental part

Of my foolish brain.

It never learns that I can never yearn for what could never be,

And yet...

Oh, how I dream of it so.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I cannot fully comprehend that which I crave,

Because no one is capable of understanding

That which they have never known.

Some may call me a liar, or claim I exaggerate.

After all, legend has it that over a quarter of a century ago,

Your arms were the only thing I accepted;

Your kisses the only ones I searched for; 

Your laughter the only melody to my newborn ears; and

Your approval the only one I sought.

Was it always meant to change so suddenly, so spectacularly?

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

Had there not been photographic evidence of the above,

I never would have believed these tales.

I can't pinpoint what the turning point was,

And neither can those I've known throughout my entire life.

I'm not sure when those shockwaves

First started to ripple through my young brain.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I can't honestly say that I've felt this shock

As much as I should have.

To a certain extent, 

This is all I have ever known, from you.

I remember, even at such a tender age,

Looking at you and feeling actual fear;

The nativity of my ongoing battle with anxiety.

I remember, even when I was barely aware of my surroundings,

Preparing to be mocked, to be judged,

By you:

One of the two people responsible for my safety

And for my stable, steady upbringing.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I cannot say whether I'll ever be able to look at someone,

Even those whose love I should never doubt,

Without owing them validation

For accepting me into their lives.

Let's talk about what I actually got from you:

A reason to bear burdens, to feel trepidation.

It is because of you

That I accept less than what I am worth,

Take on more than I can stomach,

And doubt the validity, or even health, of any bond I forge

Or that of the simplest, vaguest, most pointless interaction.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I look back over my shoulder no matter what step I take.

Some might call that healthy, even necessary.

I say I will never feel peace.

I've been called strong by some who know,

But around you,

I've never felt weaker.

The cold stare of your dark, shallow eyes

Shatters my spirit, confuses my mind,

And renders me incapable of forming

The most basic of arguments.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

You reduce me to a babbling child;

A desperate little girl crying out for an end

To the psychological warfare

You so relish in.

This was a war I never asked to wage.

For so long, I tried to search for a needle in the haystack,

One which I could use to form the most elementary patchwork,

To try and repair the damage which no one but you had inflicted,

And no one but myself felt responsible for.

Whenever I had scrambled enough to find the smallest one,

You would slap it out of my hands, as sharp as the same object

I thought would begin to mend what you broke,

Pick it up,

And pin the tail on the donkey.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I lack the space for anymore tails.

There is no needle sharp enough

To repair what you so finely shattered.

Bravo, maestro: a true masterpiece.

I have lived more than a quarter of a century,

And it is only today

That I have realised

That I do not owe you another minute of my very limited time,

Another drop from my blotchy eyes,

Or another shred of effort from my exhausted spirit.

This was not the life I was meant to live.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I can never fully trust.

I can never rest assured that those around me

Won't abandon me, won't turn their backs on me, won't betray me.

I will never stop looking for another you.

I know nothing else.

And yet, in spite of all that,

I struggle to accept anything other than that which I have always known.

I am suspicious of all that is good and pure,

And doubt all that I should hold sacred.

Nothing is free from the taint of your words, your actions,

Your silence, your indifference.

Who knows?

One thing I know for certain:

I will never stop trying

To rid myself of the stain that is you.

If that is to be my greatest challenge,

I embrace it with open arms.

I wonder if you'll ever remember how to do that...

I won't be around to see you try.

Now, as I approach the curtain call -

The end of what never should have been,

And the end of what I pray will always be -

I soothe myself with the knowledge that

I owe you no debt, no gratitude, no compassion, no love.

The one thing you will always have from me

Is knowledge.

All I know for certain:

This is goodbye.

This is our end.

And I have never been more thankful for any other fact of life.