This post is giving me more fits than it is worth. I want to say this, there is no reason not to say this, and not saying it is making it a bigger deal that it really ought to be. I’ve always been so lost, so doubtful on this particular topic, but I love the way the end of it turned out, and it is something I most definitely want to say. Instead of chopping it up and trying to salvage the good parts, leaving them not good because they’re contextless and adrift…
I am over-talking this, still.
So without further ado, here is the post I meant to post when I posted this instead.
I suddenly find today’s Daily Prompt very fitting.
I sat down to work on it as part of the Zero to Hero blog challenge, and while I’d had some ideas, nothing was coming forth. I kept gnawing at it, since part of the assignment was to just flat make it work, but all I had was a half-baked scene of Seth packing and unpacking bags from one of his various trips around the world. A fun scene, and I’ll still probably write it, but it just didn’t fit the bill of what I was hoping to do for the assignment.
Then randomly, I remembered that I had toyed around this morning (or maybe late last night – it’s hard to tell time with those nebulous awake but not thoughts) with writing an open letter to an old friend of my, Gabriel Gadfly. Our history most definitely fits the baggage bill, but that’s not why I wanted to post.
Once upon a time, Gabriel was a writer. A really good one. He’s written one novel (that I know of) and it was good. I loved it. I wanted to know more, just like with every story of his he’d started and stopped or even just sort of rambled at me about. I love his fiction, in much the same way that I loved him.
I’m not sure I can write this.
I don’t really talk about him much anymore, because it’s just plain not good for me. I don’t know what magic of biochemistry and eternal soul were at work within me – hell, are at work within me- but I know that what I feel for him is not good. Not good for him, not good for me, not good for the life I’ve managed to build from the wreckage of my own stupid decisions-
This is why I can’t write about this.
My brain fills with this fog, and a stone drops in my gut, and suddenly, I can’t breathe, I can’t be, and I’m back in that same inexplicable obsession that I was in when I was with him. I cannot exist in my own skull around this feeling that takes over me. I love it, I miss it, and I know neither of us need to be subjected to it.
This is not the post I meant to write at all.
The point is-and my rambling has made this clear- some baggage you never put down. Some baggage changes you forever, and every decision, major or not, will always be affected by it. Some baggage you simply learn to embrace, learn to take inside you and make your own, or fight it forever.
I finally learned to stop fighting, Gabriel.
And I wrote a novel.
Just kinda thought some part of you might like to know.
Some part of me, left from before all this mess, wanted to tell you. Some part of me, from the middle of all this mess, wants your approval. Some part of me, from after all this mess, misses the parts of us from before it all, misses when we were friends. Some part of me knows its stupid to listen to all these parts, and the best part of me knows I have to listen to all parts of me if I ever hope to be a complete person. The trick is giving each part the attention it deserves- no more, no less.
I’m still learning the balancing act, but what I really wanted you to know is:
I found my fire again.
And its burning just for me.