Air Conditioning

Where I want to Be

I hate the pain that fills me,
The mourning that runs so deep and was buried for so long,

But not mourning for him. No, I could never miss him,

Not after he rendered me blind to his terrible treatment for years,

Not after he left me broken for ages.

No, I mourn for myself,
The me that was lost to his manipulation,
The hope that was stolen from me,
The happiness and hopefullness that filled me to the brim with the future and good.

I mourn for the me that was lost.

And now, I mourn for the him that was lost too.

It hurts more to mourn for someone else, and it's a twisted feeling, the rage and defensiveness but also just sadness and envy that runs through my bitter veins.

The one that is to him what he was to me texted him today, on his birthday.

They expressed they hoped he would have a good day and that he was doing well.

Timestamp?

12:01 AM.

He didn't even notice they did it,
It was after he had asked as a final gift to nap in my lap,
And my phone died but he'd insisted on five more minutes so he gave me his,

That I opened Instagram,
And I saw what they had said.

They want to hurt him again,
They want him to think they care,
But we both know people like that don't really care.

Because we're both broken from people that hurt us like that,
We've both mourned for the person that was slaughtered at their hands,
And we know to never trust them again.

But curiosity dragged me to my grave,
And I scrolled up.

He was so happy.
He gave them so much enthusiasm,
Planned dates,
Told them he loved them,

And it was like looking in a mirror.

The person that was slaughtered was just like the one I mourned for so long,

So much hope in romance,
So much energy for it,
Excited for it.

And just like me, the response to his efforts?

One word replies, dry conversations, and a broken, shattered, heart.

And it's more complex than just mourning for the him that was lost, though that mourning is already enough to make me cry from sheer empathy and deep understanding.

It was also an envy for what could have been.

If we had met sooner, before those people broke us, we would have given each other what we both deserved.

Consideration, respect, adoration, true and untethered love.

Instead those two,
Who should have met,
Died at the hands of manipulators and terrible people.

And then we,
The broken and the traumatized left behind,
Wandered into each other's paths,
And found something we couldn't have ever dreamed of back then.

No, we aren't those who were slaughtered,
We're the ones who are broken and hurting,
But we're also the wiser,
The more careful,
The more mature,
And the more understanding.

I feel like I wish we would have met sooner, my love, and yet,

I can't find myself truly wanting things any different than they are now.