14 October, 2008

SIUC dairy

I wish that you had a disease. I wish there was a name, an explanation, an excuse. A reason.

You make me feel so guilty, so guilty.

I firmly believe myself when I say, You are Not Dumb.

Sometimes I wish it was crippling genius, but… I’ve met genius before, and perhaps there are elements, but we are not genius, my dear. This guilt is far more visceral than hope, this guilt is… when you know the answer already, but you’re still afraid to ask the question.

If there was a reason, would I still feel so guilty? I think I would, but at least there would be a name. An excuse. A vessel for blame. Something else I could hate. Something I could hate without hating you.

Because I love you, you know that? Loving you is who I am. But so is hating you, it seems, and then feeling guilty for it.

I don’t want to feel guilty. I want you to be normal. I really want you to be normal. I want to not feel guilty for wanting you to be normal. I want there to be a name, a reason, a category of explanation. I wish the answer were different. I wish I didn’t have to ask the question, I wish I didn’t know the answer.

You’ll always be alone, won’t you? Loving you, it’s like loving the ocean or something equally intangible, it’s… not what I wanted, not what I want, and really, I could do without the guilt.

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