Heartbreak Warfare

On the eve of a huge exam and essay, all I can think about is you. Is it selfish of me to want to run into you? To place myself in situations so I can finally purge myself of every horrible and singularly lovely thought I've ever had about you? Have us stuck in a quiet piano room in Long & McQuade and hash it out until someone's crying or laughing or they shut the lights and tell us to lock up when the bloodshed is done?

That is Heartbreak Warfare.


I keep asking myself, why now. Why at this moment? Why mention it to me, why did she tell me that you had just broken up? I could have just as easily not known. I've tried again and again...many times, tried to think or go over events in my mind. Write you letters so I can finally be cleansed of any notion of you. So I can stop walking past the Globe and the Civic Centre without thinking of you. So that Militia Trail means nothing to me.
 
It's become a horrible game - a game of skirting around each other and making sure no one steps in, no one intrudes, reminds each other of their presence. They say maybe it was her - she changed you. Me, I don't think so. It wasn't all her; it was you too. How do I keep coherent thoughts on a steady flow when everything is convoluted? You are the one thing that was so multi-faceted, the one thing I just cannot seem to rationalize and work out - and that unnerves me. It has never happened to me before, that I am now unable to say your name outloud without a deep flush - a flush of anger and heat unexplained - rise up my face.
 
Where do I find the words from, how do I separate the emotions so that, even armed with the good word and its power, I can write it out? I want to yell at you and smack you really good and hard and at the same time, I just want to hug you - tired. I am tired of running about, running away. People are afraid of thunder and darkness, I'm afraid of stasis. But I'd like to stand still here with you.
 
The problem is that you're still on the defensive. Or maybe you're not. And I'm torn. Torn because I want so badly to just - fucking get rid of this horrid feeling of you, this memory; I want it to remain a memory, I want to step out of purgatory and either pass on or return back to life. It sounds dramatic but there is no more appropriate metaphor for someone who is so different now, it almost feels like He's dead.
 
What are you fighting for? Why are you fighting? What did I do? It was so abrupt...you gave me no explanation. And if I hadn't stood out in that hallway, outside of your apartment, tears in my eyes, asking why why why you would have said nothing. Is that really the kind of coward you are?
 
That is Heartbreak Warfare.
 
I catch myself thinking of you and then ruthlessly quash down any emotion that surges at the mere mention of your name. Move on. I tell myself, move on. I was never the girl who was attached, I was always the independent. But I can't stop myself from dreaming up ways to tell you about the pain - to hope for the chance to work this out or die trying. How far have we fallen? We're far away from where we first were...
 
I want to take hold of you and shake you back awake. I want to tell you to put your weapon down. I don't want to admit defeat - I want you to want to work this out. I want you to want this back. Make this landscape stand still, make everything go quiet. Suspend time and space. Put away emotions and memories. Just tell me how it is, how you feel, what you're like. Don't be passive, call out. This is no one's win, K. This is everyone's loss - this is my loss. There are casualties, there are. And no one wins.
 
That, too, is Heartbreak Warfare.
 
I'm afraid that someday life will take us so far - time and space will be more than temporal, they will be solid, physical. Even more so than today. And, at that point, it will be too late. I heard you loud and clear when I said goodbye, but don't you understand?! You can't just fucking bury the past and not look it in the face. You move on, yes, but not by stepping on remains. You always honour the dead. You never deface. Don't you know observation of those niceties aren't just niceties? Those are necessary.
 
And with this distance separating us, we'll never be able to work it out. We'll regret, always, not returning for last words, not coming back to hash it out. You might someday find the words to say what I know you feel and I might find a way to express my love and it will have been too late - life may separate us.
 
Why am I saying this? What good is this? Sometimes, there needn't be a purpose, just a trigger. Mine is rather funny: two summers ago was the last time I spoke to you over the phone. Do you remember what I was calling for? The John Mayer concert that we were supposed to go to together. And now, two years down the lane, everything is so fucking different. We aren't even speaking. You hate me and I hate you.
 
That is Heartbreak Warfare.
 
Battle Studies came out and setlists were made and two years down the lane, as I plan to attend another John Mayer concert, all I can think about is you. That's all that keeps pervading my thoughts, K. That last phone call, the potential. I never did go to the concert - how could I? How could I without you? It just didn't seem right. It didn't feel complete and it wasn't. What is the point of keeping up this pretense?
 
K: Please end this. Please mend it. Please let me end it. Let's end this Heartbreak Warfare.