I had a dream. You were in it. I quickly rushed to the basement to find quiet. To find peace. To catch my breath that I felt had just been stolen moments ago. I exhaled relief with the feeling of aloneness in the clutter surrounding me. I needed it! It hurt, and I needed it, all of it.
It didn't last as you barrelled down, yelling at how beneath you I was. How unworthy I was. At how I'm not what you signed up for. At home, I was to get out of because it was yours and you were done.
Taking a moment. Taking it all in. I'm not her. You aren't him. This isn't what it was. No bag to load. No walk to be made. This was my accomplishment that you couldn't take from me as those before you had done. No surrendering this time.
That's when I spoke. "NO! This is my home". Meekly but again with authority this time. This is my home. You will leave, and the cycle of unknowing whether you are my father or my lover will end. Not knowing my worth and potential and not knowing the joys waiting for me with breaking the chains that dragged us for all these years will be left for no one except the closed doors you always hid behind. But they aren't mine...
Or... Maybe I'll walk. Not because you told me to. Not because of fear. Not to run.
Because I choose to. Because I know there's better out there, and it's just waiting for me beyond the reaches of this stale air that sits between us. Waiting for a moment to grow. To Live. To love. To learn.
I thought I loved you, but I also didn't love him. How could I? If I was never shown. How could I!? I can learn, but not through you, not through continuing the spinning of this wheel. I thought I loved you, and some days I still do. The love felt familiar. Felt comfortable. Felt real. The passion was unmistakable with every breath we joined. But you were never really there. The worries. The thoughts. The letdowns. The fear that ate at your every minute. You tried to fix them. Repair them. You tried every tool you had, but so did I for futile reasons.
Release. Just release. Release the pain. Release the hurt. Release the pattern. Release guilt, cycles, tears, fears, him, her, fault, blame, shame. Release until there's nothing but you. Stripped down and raw. Feel the beauty that's left. Understand it and the paths. Sculpt your scene and devour it at the moment you have it. Be present and be there.
But not here. Not in this dream of a run-down basement cluttered with thoughts and memories and dreams never let go and never realized.
I'm free, and you should be too.
It's not what we signed up for.