There Is No Resolution

16 Jan

Sometimes when I lay in my bed at night, trying to fall asleep, I think about how our resolution might go.

Sometimes it’s happy. Sometimes the days and hours fall right into place and by some coincidence we end up with all this time to talk. I tell you everything, and then you tell me everything and we realize that this whole thing was some wild misunderstanding. You tell me what I mean to you, and amazingly it’s everything you mean to me. We aren’t sure why this happened, but maybe it’s because we were just too scared to look at what was wrong. After that we talk easily, the way we did before. Everything just sort of falls back into place.

Other days it’s sad. Somehow I find a way to talk to you, and somehow you’re honest. You tell me that you thought I was okay, but also very difficult to deal with. You tell me that you sort of liked me, and maybe even loved me a bit a long time a ago. But that was a long time ago. Now I just make you feel bad things. Sad, like broken hope. It’s soft, though. Just a faint whisper of sadness. Nothing worth fixing, really. You feel passive, but also guilty. You don’t want to hurt me because maybe once, that one time, I made you happy. A bit. And so you are nice. Then I nod. I go home and cry for a few days, and then I slowly forget.

It’s the end of a movie. It might be happy or it might be sad, but there’s one thing we know for sure. It ends.

There’s comedy, romance, drama, sure. Still, after two-and-a-half hours the protagonist knows something that she didn’t know before. Even if the relationship isn’t fixed, she realizes that the important thing in life is that she knows what went wrong, and she has the courage to do better next time. Of course there’s someone else too; someone more understanding. So the movie ends, and everybody goes home. Happy and resolved.

In this movie my old best friends hate me, yes. They hate me as much as they do in real life. But then they remember something. That one time maybe. They call me and tell me how I hurt them.  Then I listen,  honestly. There’s nothing I can do to fix it because there isn’t a way to make the hurt go away, even if it’s just a small wisp of hurt. It’s there. So I accept the hate. But then, after all this time they put it aside because of that moment. What is it? I don’t know. But in that moment maybe they could see that I loved them too. And we can’t be friends, because of the hurt, I know. But maybe someday we could forget.

After that’s when you see the credits. Because it’s a movie, remember? My name comes up first because I’m the head director. This movie never makes it into theaters, because it’s boring as anything. But I don’t care.

Only this isn’t a movie, so it will happen like this. Some day I’ll realize that I can call you and ask you to get coffee with me and talk. I’ll get shaky thinking about it, the way I’m shaky thinking about it now. I’ll wonder if it would hurt you, or offend you. So I’ll do nothing. Then you and I will go off to college, and you’ll probably forget, and I probably won’t. Unless I do, or unless you don’t. And then, some day maybe they’ll get around to organizing that class reunion that we talked about. I’ll think about saying hi to you, and decide not to. I’ll only talk to the people I’m comfortable with, which is all the people I never loved. Which is most of them. But I’ll smile at you as you walk across the room; that awkward smile that I only smile at you. You’ll smile back. I’ll feel a soft sadness come over me. A sadness that I’m so used to that it can hardly be defined as sadness anymore. I’ll go home, and I won’t cry. And this soft sadness will last. How long?

Because this is the 21st century. So we know there’s no resolution. So why don’t we  just say that?


2 Responses to “There Is No Resolution”

  1. isabrown7 January 16, 2013 at 2:10 pm #

    its really beautiful

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