And you didn’t say a word . . .
I just don’t know anymore, man. What I would like to know is what’s wrong with you. What glitch occurred in your brain when you were born? What event struck you so hard in life that it made you what you are now? Not Who, but What. What’s wrong with you, dude? Because I’m done thinking that it’s me. That I’m the problem. That something is the matter with me. It’s not. Never was. I’m not perfect, heck to the no. But I’m still great. Very great. A person worth pursuing. A person worth fighting for. Someone you should be dying to talk on the phone with, or be always sending little messages to just because you can’t help it. Dang it, dude! I wanted to give you everything!
I was offering you my heart, on a big freakin’ silver platter, all served up and ready for you to devour or cherish or something, freakin’ SOMETHING, but no. You didn’t take it. You didn’t want it. Crap, dude, I don’t think you even glanced at it. While I was groping and crawling around in darkness and confusion and despair, you were off having a jolly time, totally unaware and determined to stay that way. Screw the fact that we’ve been friends since we were five! Screw all those years of feelings and getting close, being willing to try, but nothing ever actually happening. Hell, right? It’s just me. “It’s just Emily, she’ll be all right. So what if I lead her on? So what if I evoke feeling within her that she’s never felt with anyone else nor ever will? She’ll be okay. She’s a real down girl. A real tough little weirdo. She’ll muddle through one way or another. I needn’t worry about her at all. So therefore I can do whatever I want to her without concerning myself about the consequences. Because, as long as I play my cards right, none of it will ever get back to me. I won’t ever have to rue what I’ve done. All I have to do is exploit her soft and forgiving heart. Lucky me that she has one of those, otherwise all this cruel meddling would never work! Ha! Well, it’ll be fun while it lasts, and after I’ve had my gluttonous fill, I’ll move on and find a different woman to treat right. Emily’s not the scum of Skid Row or anything, but like hell she’ll be the one I’m going to treat right!”
That’s how it is, isn’t it, you little scumbag? The whole world revolves around you and your desires. And me? Weeeeeell, I’m just sort of here, right? Nothing to bat an eyelash over. “Hey, Emily fell over! She’s splayed out across the floor.” “That’s okay. Just step over her.”
Is that it? Is that how you and everyone else sees me? I would love for you to shove some evidence in my face that speaks to the contrary. Shoot, dude! I wanted it all with you! I wanted the dang house, the dang wedding, the dang sex, the dang freakin’ growing old together and holding each other when we cried. (That is, when I cried, since, of course, you aren’t a cryer, are you? Not one dang tear ever dribbled down your face, has it? What’s it like? Must be nice. Hope you’re eternally grateful that you don’t know what it’s like to cry. To cry when you don’t want to but have no power stop yourself. To cry until you fall asleep and you wake up with your eyes stiff and crusty. To cry until your throat is raw and you feel empty. Lucky you’ve never known these things, dude. Real lucky.)
. . . . I was going to continue on ranting, and considering how torn up my heart is, I have every right to and you deserve it, but we just had an earthquake and, let’s say, the Bigger Picture just got a whole lot bigger.
So, I think I’m just going to tie things up here. It’s not even like you’ll ever see this anyway. So . . . yeah, I told you I was in love with you and you never said a word. I realized my own worth and that you don’t deserve me, so I am now free but still in love, so not entirely free I guess. You are tactless, thoughtless, a jerk, and all kinds of other, more profane words. I wish things had worked out between us, or that we even might have a possibility in the future, but apparently not. Because you essentially said No. “No thank you. I might have implied, or even down right stated that I want you, but I lied. I want something else. Someone who is not you. Someone who, if I listed my criteria right, could never be you. I might have said sorry at one point, but I didn’t really mean it. I don’t really care. It was hilarious that you thought I did, though. Thanks, kid. You gave me a good laugh.”
Well, you know what, Joel? Efffffffff you! You never chased, you never pursued, you never stepped up or called or told me what was going on so that I was in a constant state of confusion. You never kept me informed about how you felt or tried to make plans with me, or even tossed me a cookie. All you ever freakin’ tossed me was crumbs, and I gladly gobbled them up like the idiot I used to be. Well, why don’t we try to change things now? How about I become the ultra-awesome, desirable, yet untouchable one? How about you salivate after me while I continuously brush YOU off, for a change? This sounds like a good idea to me, because I am dang sick of all this freakin’ pain.
You’re a moron, Joel. You really are. You could have had all of the purest, most profound, most potent love that the world has ever known, and you said No. Whoa! Wait a minute! Uh-uh! You didn’t say no, did you? You didn’t say a word.