Perceptual

Perceptual 
By Dana Fridman.

From the first time I saw you, sitting there with everyone, looking impassive and calm, so damn collected- I knew I couldn’t trust you. I knew it from the second I entered the room and my eyes were pulled straight to your direction; to look right into your black ones.

Isn’t it strange, that I’d look at you when you’re the only one among that group who was never my friend, who I always tried to avoid?

And isn’t it funny that even though I didn’t trust you one bit, I still went with you willingly?  I won’t lie to myself, telling I was forced or something ridiculous like that. I went with you because I wanted to; the forbidden always looks so good, don’t you think?

I remember lying in your arms later that day, as the moonlight was the only thing that illuminated the dark room. I remember listening to your heartbeat, still a little faster than usual because of what we did, breathing in your scent- so alluring and sweet, and I remember wishing that moment would last forever.

How well you knew what I was thinking. Even then you could read me too easily. Your voice was so tender and soft when you said those biting words, “You see, love isn’t everything,” you told me so calmly.
Maybe if I had really listened to what you said, I’d have seen the clues that have been laid out so clearly, but I heard what you said without really listening. Maybe because I wanted that sweet illusion to last a little longer.

Even now that I know about the cruel games you’ve played on my account, without even letting me know the rules, I can’t say I blame you. How can I? It’s not entirely your fault that you are emotionally unavailable. I guess it’s my fault, I chose to see what was never there.

Oh, how you enjoyed playing with me. I was your little pliant doll. You never asked me to open my heart, never asked for my love as so many others did. But I opened my heart. Oh, I did.
How could I not? You always asked so nicely, never promising a thing to the little girl who only wanted love.

You know how they say life is sometimes a roller coaster? I don’t agree with that. Maybe because I was never up high between the clouds. Maybe because I shattered on the hard ground before I had time to realize that for a second there, I had been up.

You have so many different laughs, my darling. The kind of laugh that had made me feel almost giddy with happiness because I’ve made you laugh, and the kind of laugh that you’d laughed then. The laugh that had chilled my bones, made the blood in my veins freeze even before you said those words, “You love me? Oh, that’s just too sweet, but also quite foolish, sweetheart. Please don’t tell me you expect me to say it back?”
I could’ve shut my mind to your words again, just like I’d done that first night, but I did not. I don’t know why; the same smile was there, like I said something really foolish but if I forget everything about it, you will make it all go away. And the same tender voice was used too. But this time it just stroked me the wrong way.

You know how in some stories they say that before making love, the girl just stands there, feeling exposed because the guy sees her naked for the first time? Well, I had never felt exposed with you, until that very moment, not even when we’d first had sex.
Making love was never our thing, was it, darling? No, all we ever did was fuck. It takes two people with at least minimum feelings to make love, and you never had any. Well, it was then, with my clothes on, that I felt exposed completely, and wounded beyond my worst nightmares.

The memory of running away was never clear in my mind. But now, as I’m writing this, it is ever so clear.
It’s like I’m running in the darkness all over again, crawling through the rubble cuts all over my body, still tender after…
I still have scars, you know? But it’s nothing compared to the scars I have inside. And those can’t be covered and “fixed” by surgeries.

Do you know how it feels like, standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down on the raging waves beneath on the sharp stones? I shall tell you then, because I don’t think you do.

I’m sure I’d made a lovely picture, standing there, so close to the edge. “The woman on the Edge” they’d have called me. And on the edge I was, both physically and mentally.
It feels terrifying and exciting at the same time. Terrifying because at that moment you feel like nothing but a speckle in the wind- about to fly away in a moment and exciting because you know you’re only a step away from death. You only have to jump.

But I never took that step, even though I so easily could. And do you know why?
Not because I was afraid of dying, or because I had too much to live for. I never took that step because while standing there watching the waves hit the stones I suddenly understood something.
I was so like those stones at that moment- waves of grief and sadness hitting me over and over again, and yet, the stones never moved or gave up the fight. The stones stayed strong in their place.
And at that moment I decided I can stay strong as well.

Unlike you, I am capable of loving. And the rest? The rest is just perceptual.


(Word Count: 985)