Talking crazy

(c) M. Reichert

Okay so maybe I’m more than a little crazy. But to understand why I am the way I am you have to know one thing about me: I do think & rethink – live and re-live about ten different stories in my head. Every day. And still I can’t write them down – at least not entirely. All because I’m trying to avoid the one story I fear I migh have to finish first. The one about you. The one that makes me cry. The one that drives me crazy. So let’s hear it from the ghost that is the reason I stopped dreaming.

So – is it really over?
Well, yes. I think it is.
For real this time?
Yeah, yeah. It’s over and done.

So – are you going to get over it now?
It might take a while, but eventually yes, I will get over it. I survived the ones before I can surly do it again.
And then what – are you going to run away again?
I never ran away.
You did.
No, I got over it and moved on.
Yeah, except you didn’t. You’re just too afraid to admit that.
I am not. It has been such a long time ago it actually feels like another lifetime.
That doesn’t seem to matter.
You are wrong. I have moved on. I picked up the shards, put them back together and went on with my life.
Nice story, too bad it is nothing but a lie you put together. The shards never fit right afterwards. It still feels all wrong and you know it.
You wish.

No, I know. Why is it that you never talk about me? Why can you tell them all about the others but never even mention me?
Well, because it would be ridiculous to talk about something that never really happened anyway.
And that is just not true!
It is. It never happened. Nothing ever happened.
So why did you bury the only real dream you ever had? Why can you not finish it?
I simply stopped dreaming about something I could never have and started with new dreams.
Tell me, did you ever finish a story since then?
Fuck you!
You didn’t, did you? You can’t. Because you know, the only story worth writing is the one you buried when you ran away. The one story you don’t dare to tell because it will be too close. So you write all these disguises, keep all the excuses and never finish anything in the progress.
You are wrong.
So prove me wrong! Write it! Finish it! If you can, you’ll show me that you truly got over it.
I can’t.

Well, so what will you do? Look at another missed opportunity and tell yourself again that you are not worth it?
There is no missed opportunity. It was nothing but a figment, I never even stood a chance.
Wrong. You never even tried. You just let enough time pass to make sure it would never happen. And while we’re at it – you don’t even know if it truly is over yet. You just want to believe a suspicion and let it break your heart.
It seems logical.
That it does and it’s probably also true. But you know there were enough signs to actually try something. You just didn’t.
I know.
Yeah, but that’s not going to help.
So what do you suggest?
Oh come on, really?

I can’t do it! It hurts to even think about you! There is no way I can ever write that damn story without thinking about you. And I really, really, REALLY do not want to go there ever again! But just opening the files catapult me back to a place I swore I would never EVER go again. I do not want these memories. And I don’t ever want to talk about it. To anyone. EVER.
I know. But tell me – do you really think making up conversations in your head with me is going to help you in any way?
No.
So why do you do it then?
Well, apparently because I am crazy.
All artists are a little crazy. So that’s a very lame excuse.
Maybe I have schizophrenia.
You do not here a voice! You actually know that you are talking to yourself.
True.

So tell me, why do you do it then?
You know why.
Tell me!
Okay, because I miss him. Every second of every day of every fucking year that has passed since! And I miss the dream I buried along with it. It has been the only true dream I ever had. Miss almost tasting it on my tongue. Miss having some kind of a plan. I just miss everything related to it so much. And I know that’s the reason why I have been stuck for the past years. But opening that door again also means to admit that I failed.
You have yet to fail. So far you only stopped.
No actually I never truly did. I just convinced myself that I’d learned to live without it.
So change it.
That’s so easy to say, but so hard to do.
It is not. You just started to pick up the shards again. So this time really try to put them together. Don’t just pretend you did.

I still can’t talk about you.
You don’t have to. Think about me and write it down. Put the words in sentences and finish the damn story. Even if you have to cry your heart out while doing it!
And then what?
Does it truly matter what happens afterwards?
Well, I don’t know.
Liar.
Okay. No, it doesn’t matter. I guess.

Do you realize that you just talked to yourself about me for a whole 20 minutes?
I guess I did.
Do you feel like crying?
Yes, but I won’t. Not today.
You think tomorrow will change everything?
No actually I think it will only confirm what I suspect anyway.
And what happens if it doesn’t?
I can’t promise you that I will try.

Try it.
Why?
Because you will regret it if you never ask and you know it.
So what do you suggest I do?
What you never dared to do before.
And what happens if it’s true?
Then you’ll know. Then you’ll be a little sad and a little shaken and maybe even a little heartbroken. But it will pass and while it does you can write my story down.
It never was his story!
No, it was yours – mine –ours. I am sorry all these personalities start to confuse me.

Do you think I’ll ever be able to tell anyone about him?

I don’t know. Do you want to?
I honestly don’t know. I guess not.
So don’t. But please try. Make a total fool out of yourself and be embarrassed afterwards. But try! Just once, just for the sake of a memory you’re still running away from.
Okay. I will try to try.
I guess that’s good enough then.
Yeah, I guess so too.

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