Rings of Return

On the worst days, I forget what you look like.

Not everything about you, but the little details that make you a distant memory to me.  I spent sixteen years looking at you, and in just six short years, the little things have begun to fade. 

You're getting frayed.

I can see all of the little things individually, like snapshots.  Your massive eyes, your rough hands, even the little bits of gray hair that were just beginning to peek through when we parted ways.

Those memories stay ablaze.

I can picture how food gets caught in your mustache and how your calves spill over the top of those stupidly high socks that you wear when you go play sports.  But I can no longer see all of those things as a whole.  You’re not a full image anymore; you’ve become broken up puzzle pieces.

My heart rate increases.

The worst part is that it hurts.  I wish it didn’t.  I wish that my anger towards you still overpowered my longing and sadness, but I’ve surpassed that stage.  The stages of grief. 

I'll try to keep this brief.

So how do you grieve for someone who never really existed?  You only existed as a part of my memory.  That version of you that loved me and made me laugh on VHS tapes that I still play on repeat, and held me close to protect me in photos that have become worn over the years. 

Here come the tears.

It’s really too bad that I grew up and got wise.  And it’s too bad that you never loved me enough to accept me as I am today: I am successful and respected in my world.  I am fiercely loyal to the people that I love, and I am strong.  And that is the me that you will never get to know because you can’t swallow your pride and admit that you are not always right.

I'm taking flight.