There are many moments in many days when I feel the urge to talk to you.
It's weird.
Maybe not. Given that we spent so many years of our lives together, coocooned from the world for the most part, like Royalty ensconced in their castle, picking and choosing who came and went into our lives.
With her, all manner of beings walk through. Trampling the proverbial carpet, seeking refuge, shelter from the damp, incessant rain that seems to plague our days so often now.
I used to yearn for you when you were not there. Because a part of me, a huge part of me, actually enjoyed your company. The quiet assurance of your presence, the not speaking but feeling connected.
I keep comparing my relationship with her to the one you and I had. And I shouldn't really, because she is so different.
But lately, the burden of carrying her has become to feel all too familiar. Like it used to in the last days with you.
I fear that I may make the same mistake again. Help when I should not, or be there, hands extended at the cost of my own sanity.
I wish she would get her life together. Two of you back to back is a little too much for me on most days.
Maybe this won't last and if it doesn't, I doubt I will be as cut up as I was about you.
I am so angry with her sometimes. Because I don't want her to end up like you.
Every time I speak to her or tell her how I feel, she ends up feeling guilty all by her self. When that is not my intention. I tell her because I do not want to keep it all inside or tolerate it or let it be. I did that with you and it all ended up muddled, messed up, like a wild animal had torn through our field of wheat, trampling the good grains into the mud.
She annoys me sometimes. I realise now that her presence is not always something I want. Maybe because I am now keen to spend some time on my own, actually on my own, to explore the writing and craft and imagination. I have something that keeps me going beyong the humdrum of life and constant pursuit of money and financial stability.
My life at the moment is full with the things I am passionate about. And a lot of times, I find caring for her gets in the way.
There are even times when I tell her I love her that it all feels hollow and empty.
She doesn't understand me any more than I understand her.
I tell you what. I cannot tolerate this for another year.
By the end of this one, I will move away, physically, and her grand illusions of getting rich or doing whatever it is that she insistently smashes her head against the wall for, will be farther away from my day-to-day reality than she realises at this point. I will be on an island, running my own little business, writing, and doing my thing. Without her.
If she thinks she can run this relationship by remote control, then she is sorely mistaken. It will self-destruct and the passion will dissipate.
I find so many faults with her these days. The love-making is far from satisfactory, the affection fought for most of the time. She lopes around the house like a wounded animal with a sore head, and I am the only one privileged enough to see it. Whoop deedo. Gotta love it.
Fuck.
I think I need to cede control. Stop pushing her. Let her wallow on her own and not help. Let her hang.
Heaven only knows, I have more than enough on my own hands to have to worry about her as well.
