You Are Back. Or, Are You?

I smile at the world. The confident, sassy smile that I have come to call my own. I am witty all day long. I am the rock my friends have come to naturally lean on. Sorting out crises, keeping secrets. I am the person they all want me to be. Beacuse to be otherwise would just scare them away or worse, arouse their pity. So, I keep my fears to myself, I tuck my nightmares away. Deep into this mind that has been termed all things; beautiful, astute, intelligent, silly and mad. Stark-raving mad. My exterior is the stoic person I have turned into over the years. My interior is the graphic resemblance of an-after-tornado experience. Yet I smile on. My fears shake me all day long...and the shadows do not go away like the books said they would. They stay with you. They follow you.

The past has a life of its own. The past doesn't go away unless it decides to. Erasing all memory of you has not helped much. Staying away from the places you frequent has not kept you away. Strangling everything I felt for you has not quite committed the murder I was aiming at. 

You never went away. Not really. You were in every song that played. Your silhoutte accompanied each single-person gin and tonic date I had with myself. But how couldn't you be gone? How could the mention of your name still make me smile...on that rare occasion. Most of the time, it made me stark raving mad. The rest of the time, it weighed me down. With a heaviness so profound and achey, I felt I was suffocating.

But you sauntered in. Not giving a second glance to anyone. Until you saw me. And you smiled. And faltered. And hugged me. How three hours passed by, I will never know. But they did. Three hours of part accusations, part apologies, part nostalgia. Three hours of careful, accidental touching. Three hours of shutting the rest of the world out. Three hours of forgetting that this was a bar. We were meant to socialise. Not semi-make up. 

Three hours and we were apologising. We were cursing at fate. We were angry that so much time had gone to watse. Because those three hours put the truth out. Life played a dirty on us. Life took a year away from us. Three hours and we knew. That warm holds would be closing this night. That no way were we not ending the night on a high.

Three days and 160 text messages later, we were back. To the very thing that that had given fate the chance to tear us apart. The same question that racks my insides and jumbles my mind. Three days later and we still couldn't decide...or rather, you couldn't.

Four days later and we are back to the repeat scene of what always pre-marked my running. Me, screaming at you and doing everything in my power to anger you. How could you not see that if we lost this time, we were forever gone. How could you not see that this was the time to make the tough choices. How could you not see that when we are, life takes on an unsual explosiveness. How could you possibly still want to draw this out? How can I not see that again, here I am. Scared, again. Frustrated, again. Hurting, again.

I am a mess of emotions, thoughts and prayers.

I do not know exactly what it is I am seeking from God. I do know. I am seeking for my heart to ache in only the good ways. I am bargaining with heaven to give us a chance or find a way to forever separate us. I am begging all deities to speak sense into your stubborn self. And with all the self-control I can muster, I am staying away from the phone. Because we never stop. Because one text will lead to twenty more and then you just might drive over to my place. One touch and I'll be putty. Gullible and willing putty. And then I will be running. Because you frighten me. The intensity scares me. But right now, your downright foolishness is annoying me. 
I am going to the bar. Where we made up. I will get drunk on foreign-named cocktails then I will try to not call you.

One year later, and you are back.

Or are you?

Is this the final scene?