I’m not fine.
I’m not OK.
Either way, it all happened. That much is true.
And now, we sit on our respective horizons looking back on our own view of all that has happened. One life. Two people. Two views. Lots of “stuff” in the middle.
It is actually fine though.
It didn’t need to have been perfect.
Really it didn’t.
As a child I always felt as though someone was missing from my life, although I only worked out who it was when I got older. Now there are two people who are missing.
It’s not nice.
But it’s fine.
I know you don’t believe me but I didn’t ever want this. I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way. In fact, I remember when I thought that it was me who could keep everyone together. I thought I would be the wise sage who would bridge the gaps. I thought I would be the hero to ‘unite the clans!’
I was so naïve in my twenties. Of course I couldn’t do that.
And now here we are. Well here I am anyway. You? You are far away. And you are never here for me. You are never here for yourself either. You are missing out on so much. Then again, that’s not really anything new is it?
But it’s fine.
I am beyond sad now. I’m dealing with it. If anything it’s just weird, like an odd sort of grief where nobody died. It would be laughable if it wasn’t so tragic.
And I get it, you know? I really do get it. That’s one good thing I have from you, although you seem to have lost it; I still get it. I understand it now. I get what life is.
There was a time when you were all I had. When you starved so I could eat, when you put yourself in harm’s way to protect me, when you fought for me, when you were everything you should be.
But then I grew up.
And you grew up.
And all around us life was happening.
I get it.
We are all the sum of what has happened to us. What we see in the mirror right now is the result of all the love and the hurt and the success and the failure and the good things and all the shit stuff that we have stomped along through since the day we were born.
And that’s us. That’s people.
We are life in a bowl.
We are “shit” soup.
I think my soup came out better than yours.
I know you would disagree.
I often wonder, why does the bad stuff sting more than the good stuff feels good? Is it some sort of Darwinist survival thing that eventually stops you doing that again and again, because it hurts so bad. It doesn’t work very well does it?
Human beings are so dumb.
Or, perhaps we’re not. Perhaps one day we will become omniscient beings who forgive and understand and explain and have endless patience and pools of love for everyone we meet.
But not today.
I have no anger. I have no regret. I no longer have tears either, because for you and me this is simply how it has to be. This is how it needed to be.
And it’s OK.