On going backwards

People come and go, and come back again. In the past two years I’ve learnt that, for some reason, most return. It’s not necessarily that they miss you, who you are, but they miss…something. I think it’s more about a feeling they got when they were with you, that’s what they miss, and they wish to retrieve it, or at least remember it, confirm it had once been there. 

Every so often they remove the infinite layers of ‘covers’ that they use to hide and even bury who they really are, and they get scared, because what they see is so far removed from what they pretend to be every single day and they are shocked because they’re looking at a stranger. Their past selves have been attached to different people, so when they remember you they are ultimately trying to once again approach that part of them they lost. 

I’ve been several people’s time machine. Hey, I’ve even used people as a time machine myself. It doesn’t lead anywhere. At some point, quite soon actually, you realize they have nothing more to offer, just as they didn’t the first time you let them go. Otherwise you wouldn’t have, would you? It doesn’t mean they’re bad people, it doesn’t mean they hurt you, it simply means that your cosmic meet had to end there. They had served their purpose just as you had served yours. It just always sucks being the one ‘let go.’ We always take it personally, don’t we? But when we do it we get pissed off if other does so. We become annoyed and impatient and wish they would leave us alone, but most of the time we don’t tell the truth, for fear it might hurt their feelings.

We’ve become allergic to honesty, of any kind, shape or form. Our intolerance to truth stems from the conviction that we are doing the other person a favor. We’re letting them down easy. We get lost in the sea of ‘friends’ who are too busy to even say hello. We’ve become a generation of excuse experts, who prefer to lie and appease instead of openly express our faded interest, or the fact that, for some reason, which is our right, we find the other person incompatible. 

So why go back? Didn’t we learn the first time? Or, is going back the only move we have left after having blocked our way forward by moving a pawn in the wrong direction? What insight do we hope to gain this time around? It has nothing to do with second chances and everything to do with not trusting ourselves enough to accept that if we left the first time, there was probably a good enough reason. So when we return, we’re either looking for a part of ourselves we left behind, or we’re making sure we got out of there intact, and whole.

But when are we ever whole?

One thought on “On going backwards

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