Danger and Disappointment

I tremble from rage. My eyes burn with tears that drown me on dry land. Screaming in my head at the world, and him, I wonder how I could have been so stupid, so naive. Love does that to a person, at least the idea of it. It twists and taints what should have been so simple. 

The victim or the culprit? Maybe both.

I am Danger, yet I didn’t know my own name before now. 

Loneliness might have suited me for a time. Solitude had been my friend for so long that I’d found comfort in the silence. Surrounded by voices of those who spoke through me. When dusk came, I relished in the stillness and let my mind take me elsewhere. I heard music of far off lands, of power and victory, and dreamed of new worlds. It spilled out of my fingers and onto the keyboard like ink onto a page. Words came. Words I didn’t know I could mould together. They took shape and sculpted a world in which I believed more than my own. 

One day, I shared the story I’d written. Someone shared back.

I didn’t learn Disappointment’s name at first. Inspiring. Patient. Perfect. That’s what I called him. That’s how I saw him. Real but not real, ones and zeros on the screen I poured my heart into. Fun. Easy. Perky. He called me these things, and I felt them all.

We locked together in intangible bindings, but distance always tore us apart with a click. 

Truths gushed in geysers. Confessions flowed in torrents. Realisations flooded rivers of two lonely lives running towards the same ocean from opposite directions. I thought the ocean had to be nearby as I sailed downstream. If I could just reach that ocean, I could reach him.

Every truth was another step closer. And I let him in, gave away pieces of myself I’d never given anyone until he had almost everything. He gave so much back in return, and I’d fallen in love. No, flown in love. I soared on his every word, clung to him for untouchable comfort. 

His light brightened the darkness that hovered over my life. He gave me joy and music and laughter. But it was his mind, his inspiration and creativity that bound me to him.

Sharing more with him was easy as breathing. He inhaled and exhaled with me, and I took all of it. Used it for myself, stole secrets from him and gave him all of mine. I became Danger and knew the pain behind the truth, yet I let us both hurt over our past torments and fed off his attention. Not once did he stop me. He fed off me too.

Our lives overlapped in pastimes and passion, old and new. Music was his passion, as it has once been mine. I’d been a dancer and played a little, but I’d stopped many years ago. I grew away from it and let so much go for no apparent reason other than I’d lost my spark. He gave it back to me. I danced and sang and made music in an entirely new way. 

So close, I could hear his heart, feel the vastness of possibilities. I revealed my true self, a painful thing to do when one doesn’t like what she sees in the mirror. But he said nothing to make me feel hideous the way so many others had. Visions of a life full of love bloomed in my mind. He wanted what I wanted, loved what I loved, needed the way I needed. 

But it wasn’t me he needed. And he told of another in his life without sparing a thought over how I had already admitted my feelings for him. There was no delicacy in his admission. His truth slapped me worse than any blow over how he let me think I was enough for him when all along I was nothing more than a distant thought, someone to listen at his leisure.

Broken, I fell and crashed and burned in raging flames. Confusion consumed me, lies sounded over and over. Truth was lost to his poisonous words. I wished he’d never existed while longing for him to turn back to me. 

I had nothing and no-one, and he had someone better than me. She fed off his attention while I scrambled for whatever scraps he threw my way. He turned back occasionally for a time, sparking the false hope that he might keep me in his life in some small way. But in time, I finally saw him for what he was. Disappointment after disappointment. 

Those pieces of me are still with him, and I can never get them back. I mourn a life that was never mine, one I never should have imagined. Letting go is impossible when I have no answers as to why he left me ruined, why he didn’t ask me to cross that ocean, why he used me for his own ego. 

Walking away was not an option. I tried. So this was my own torture, to be unwanted as I watched from a distance, for the other woman, she was a friend, one who saw his perfection just as I did once. 

Ultimately, he made her soar just to let her fal…l and crash in those familiar flames that still burn me. And now there is another, a third, or fourth. I’ve lost count. But the one I knew best, she is the one he hurt the most and forced me to watch him repeat his mistakes. Yet he keeps her to boost his ego as I once did. 

I was nothing to him. 

I fell in love with a disappointment that left me emotionally battered and bruised. I lost my inspiration, my creativity and my self-worth to him. 

Now, I live with pain and hatred and worthlessness. This is my danger, my lack of control, and the grief I can’t reconcile when I am grieving someone who isn’t dead. He haunts me and won’t leave me be event though he said he was going to disappear. He lied. 

What’s one more disappointment?


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