Oblivion was bliss.
Oblivion is pretty when you know absolutely nothing. Being fully ignorant, would be way easier. The case for me, however, was different. I, for one, knew that there is something I didn’t know. Oblivion isn’t like that, though. Oblivion is not knowing that you don’t know about anything.
I knew all the questions to ask but deprived myself of the truth. Truth hurts so no thanks, I’m not really after a great dosage of pain.
But truth haunts you. It demands to be known. So after months of trying to escape it, after months of letting it bother me, I asked. I asked because we were in the right situation to talk about it. From the jokes to the truth, that’s how it went.
And so I found out what I didn’t want to know. I thought to myself, what could hurt more, anyway?
But I knew the answer: it is knowing what hurts you and knowing that there’s still more of it — and knowing what it is exactly.
So again, I cried myself to sleep. For the umpteenth time, you weren’t there despite the fact that I told you I needed you. I can’t blame you, you had a long day too. When I told you I’d tend to myself after, I did — and I did alone. I woke up today, empty.
According to the book we both love, pain demands to be felt. So I tried to retell everything to myself but I didn’t feel the stabbing pain. Maybe I got to accept that there is nothing I can do about it except for mentally cursing the two of you in my mind. But even that doesn’t ease anything. Maybe I learned to be stronger. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they say.
I knew where pain was, I just can’t seem to feel it anymore.
I may be stronger. I don’t know. But I am sure: I am numb.