With utter disappointment, you stare at ME. You look into my eyes, into the depths of my soul to search for something that will solidify your hatred. You find personal regret and look away.
My past, my present, and my future:
The three of you give me the same look - the eye of despair, the grimace that alludes to my failure, with a final twinge of apprehension. It is this the sunken visage that brings the recurring sense of obsolescence into my heart.
Each time you stare, your last words work their way into the my deepest emotion, my suppressed sadness: “You thoughtless piece of trash!”
I watch you. Unsettled.
You refuse to speak to me. You stare because you hate how close we were, you hate remembering the compassion you would express for me, the joy we both felt when we accomplished many things together.
We make eye contact, and I am crippled by regret.
You don't want to remember who I was. You can't bear to look at me.
…. Because I destroyed your hopes and made a mockery of your dreams.
I never met your expectations as a person or a writer. I would insult you, hate you when you had the best interest at heart, and make fun of all of the dreams you had for me. You would try to TEACH me to be a better person, to work towards greater goals, but I would ignore you.
I don’t know why YOU didn’t realize how mediocre I was from the start … I’ve always been mediocre and you shouldn’t have bothered investing so much time into me…
It seemed like I didn’t care to change. In reality, I just didn’t know how to...
ventually, I came to realize that I didn’t care enough about you; everyone else seemed more important, even though I was irrelevant to them. I detached myself from you because I didn't love you enough, I didn't appreciate you enough. As a result, I encased myself in self deprecation and the desire to never let anyone understand the inner workings of who I am.
Your disappointment pierces me the most:
All I remind you of is what I won´t be, what I can´t become, because I´m not smart enough, not talented enough, not persistent enough, not caring enough.
“Yes, go! Run back to that little notebook you write your stories in, you mediocre excuse for writer! Go with your heart empty and your tears flowing because despite all of the dreams and aspirations you have filled in that one notebook, you can’t fulfill any of them. And you know you can’t fulfill them!”
You got tired of me and favored someone better, more refined, diligent. Someone more useful .… And that's okay. People never really needed me in the first place. It didn't take me long to come to that realization.
Everyday I wake up, I am reminded of how much I need YOU. And the last thing you want is to be associated with me.
But something keeps you attached to me:
I look in the mirror and all three you stare back at me…