"An Editor's Pause"

 

Why?

Just, why?

Why didn't you see how fucking broken, submissive & crushed I was? Why didn't you recognize the time bomb? Why, when I asked repeatedly...with my most calm, cool and collected voice...why didn't you hear me?

Why?

Why is it that I had to make a monumental turn to show you I'm worth it? Yes, I know what you've done. We all do. When does my story get heard? When do we look at my good parts and not just anything I've ever done wrong, down to relationships or crushes that hadn't been even REMOTELY thought of?

Why? Why when I wouldn't return the favor, even though it would've been EASY to do so? Why?

It's because I love you. I stopped with my shit to not only get what was coming to me, but offer up a bit more just to show it wasn't a game to me. I kept taking it. Kept taking it. Kept it.

Now...I have to hold the weight of all that rage in silence. Just like I did when you threw the fucking cup at me. Just like when you told me to get boxes, pack shit & get the fuck out and when I did you unpacked shit...and I didn't come at you. I refused to hurt you more.

I DID EXACTLY WHAT YOU ASKED.

Period.

After the fact it was still somehow my own fault for listening to you, following your instructions, doing what was asked of me, as a man who owes a debt for his mistakes. He takes it and takes orders.

I took the orders. Why did you order me?

If your intention wasn't for me to leave and show that yes, I could be a good boy and follow the rules and instructions, why did you order me to follow those rules and instructions?

Why?

I don't beg and yet, somehow, I begged you to please stop. Please, that I'd had enough and I didn't want it to be this way. I didn't want to have to make the hard choice to stand up and show you I had the backbone you were looking for.

Why did I have to show it against you instead of with you?

Why?

I wish, with my most sincere of hearts that you had just stopped. Just for a moment and gave me a god damn handhold. A glimmer.

I cant always be the move maker every time, ESPECIALLY, when I'm instructed to know how very little I'm thought of. At all times. Any given time. At volume. Indiscriminately sometimes. How do I get to reach out and touch you, at all, when I can't even be allowed close enough to touch?

Why can't you understand that? Why doesn't that make sense to you?

If you won't let me, or tell me I can't I'm not going to force myself. Somehow that little common sense part of the puzzle, which should've been considered, didn't seem to match up. Why didn't my explanation make sense?

Why?

It would be nice, but I know it won't or can't. I'd love to be able to show.

Why can't I trust that you won't do more just out of spite?

Why can't I stop thinking about you even when I'm not?

Why did you push me to the brink, over the edge & into the trench?

Why?