Table of Contents [Report This]
Lost.
Lost is all I am; all I can be. This is what you left me with, this is what you made me, and this is all I know.
Things like this cannot be changed.
I am an embodiment of who you shaped me to be. I grew from a seed to a flower, planted under their conditions and growing in whichever way they led me to believe the sun was but, ultimately, I was following you.
I’m sick.
Sick and tired of being sick and tired – of this world, this life. I’m sick of you acting like you actually give a damn. Because of what we were, what we are, what we’re supposed to be. Friends, enemies, lovers, siblings, soul mates, partners in crime. Victims, innocents. The unforgiven.
The fox and the hound, the princess and the kitchen boy, the beauty and the beast.
We’re all of them, none of them. Because are we truly, honestly, any of those things other than damned? I don’t call this a relationship. I call this an apathetic acquaintance. I call this a one way road, a guessing game, a piece of shattered glass. Use, abuse, exploitation. Sneaking around, snapping, snarling, sulking. You yell, I yell, and when we’re not yelling we’re just putting up with it because we can’t be bothered fighting anymore. Trying is just that – trying. Our lives are just a whole heap of trying and never succeeding; things like this cannot be changed.
There’s much between us – good, and bad, and most of it, all of it, tainted by shadows. What we have is history. When people speak of history, it’s always in past tense and you know it; it’s behind us and maybe that’s where it’s better off staying.
You don’t know me, even if you think you do, and I’m not even going to pretend I know you. We might have understood each other once, but it changed. We changed. Years went by and everything, absolutely everything, changed.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost…
A mantra.
We’re standing here after an era of flight.
Face to face, and the tension is no less than it’s ever been. We share a glance, a dream, a curse. We share so much and we’re still so alone, even as our fingertips dance across each other’s skin and we move to silent music in the moonlight.
You think you love me. You say it every day, maybe to hear it, but you never do. I’ve led a life of lies and I won’t tell you something I can’t take back. Maybe it’s true, maybe I’ve forgotten what love is. But if you do love me, put my needs before your desires. Let me be free – and I can’t be free while I’m tied indefinitely to you. If you love me, understand. If you love me, let me go.
Your love is what makes me want to leave you.
I should have known it would never work, and maybe deep down, I did. I’m not happy here and while I thank you for making me realize it, I need you to understand that you’ve been just as blind as I have.
I can’t be what you want me to be. Consider it a lipstick kiss in the corner of the bathroom mirror after a one night stand; I’m not being ungrateful, I’m being appreciative. I’m preserving what little hope we have left rather than taking the risk of losing it all. I’m starting to think, right about the same time you started to stop.
Consider this my two weeks notice, my white flag, my resignation to a force greater than you. Anything but goodbye.
I’m not going anywhere, but things can’t stay the same.
You’re certain this is the solution. I see what you don’t; that you can’t begin to be impartial towards something so close. You’re still human, and pretending only goes so far.
It started with a box, a Pandora’s box – supposedly holding some old, dusty papers that have caused the loss of the lives of many – why would you want to read them? Because they’re right, because you want to let them dictate our lives, or just because you want to tell them they’re wrong?
So many times you’ve told me to have faith and believe.
Believe in what? That even dice have destiny?
There’s no such thing as fate where chance is concerned; fate is a scapegoat for people that can’t handle their own problems. You can estimate, guess, pick an outcome based on probability but Jarod – this was never something you could sim.
Your path, my path. That’s what they are – two different paths; leading away from each other, towards each other, across oceans and through unmarked terrain, but we’re led there by our own choices. You act like the scrolls would tell you for us life held something more – what would you do if they said what I’ve always feared – that those paths will just go on forever? That where we end up will be back where we started, alone even if we’re side by side, no matter how you strive to bind us together? You’re a genius, Jarod, you know what parallels are – they’re two lines, running each next to the other, never meeting. They’re our lives. They’re us. They’re what, if anything, we were fated to be.
You wanted to read the scrolls, because if you didn’t, you’d be forever wondering and so they’d control you anyway. I guess it leaves you with little choice because no matter what, you’ve let it be so that they can still rule over your – our – life, no matter where we escape to.
Damn it, Jarod - you were supposed to be the smart one.
You let them rule you, and because of them, you’ve doomed everything we could have been.
You asked me to marry you.
I’m a shell of the woman I used to be; I said yes because if I’m going to be unfulfilled no matter what, I might as well opt for what allows you to be content. You keep on pretending – try as best you can to build up the illusion of a happily ever after and act as if you love me like a man should love his wife.
I wear your ring but I can’t – won’t – have your children.
You think it’s because I have insecurities concerning my own childhood, that maybe I’m too old and tired, or that I don’t want to pass on the Parker legacy. In every respect you’re wrong; I can’t give you a child because if one existed, to do what I am doing to you would hurt too much.
Think about it – I kissed him, he kissed me back. When have we ever been that simple? There was no running, no chasing, no games. No conditions, demands. It was a mutual exchange, easy, noncommittal. Not obligatory. He didn’t tell me I’m beautiful, that he’d go to the ends of the earth for me, or make me feel as if I owed him something. It was the giving of what was wanted and needed, and for that moment, I could have loved him for it. It’s just that he had no face.
Does it cut you to know that I, your adulteress, keep my wedding band on, even as I tarnish our marriage? That he absently twists it as he touches me, and that every brush of that warm metal against skin is delicious, invigorating, dirty but wonderful and makes me feel alive in a way that you never can? He fucks with you as he fucks with me and as he fucks with us both it fucks with our marriage. Our pretend. Our cage.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost…
A mantra.
You don’t hate me. You’re not mad. You don’t take your ring back, because you know there’s no one else’s finger you could bear to see it on. Betrayal is something you’re accustomed to, and you can deal with it. You only want to know why I do it, and it’s because I needed to prove to myself that I can hurt you, that I am capable of breaking away from you.
I cannot belong to you.
My loyalty is the only thing I still have any control over, which is why it must be my own. To be faithful to you is to surrender; to let you envelope me and to do so is to place my life in your hands. You’re the one person left on this earth with the power to destroy me - and you will, and you won’t even know you’ve done it.
You’re killing me slowly, Jarod. Feeding off a soul that was sold to the devil and therefore can never be replenished. You want everything, all of me, when I don’t have it myself. Parts of me – like parts of you – were stolen and I never got them back.
There’s a hole in my heart for every loved life that wasn’t spared – a bullet wound for each they all received. A tear in my flesh for my mother, for Tommy, for a little girl that died because of what she saw in an elevator. Pieces of my existence that no longer hold me together.
It’s the reason I don’t always come home at night, it’s the reason I often cry once the lights are off and you’ve been sated. It’s the reason I never wear your shirts – it was something I did while devoted to Tommy, and it’s another sector of my core that I can’t hand over.
You found your mother whereas mine is gone for good, you receive from your father where mine has never known how to give. You have your sister while I lost mine, a clone that is the silver lining of a travesty and though you are without your brother and I am not, I’m the one that’s the twin of a product of hell. He’s the last connection I have, save you. Two half siblings that I’d die for; the only proof that I have something left to live for.
I wouldn’t die for you.
You have your ordained loves; Nia, Rachel, Zoë. I’ve seen the files – you had affection where I lacked intimacy and when Thomas came along, the sole relationship I had that was not a fabrication of the Centre, I lost him in my foolishness.
If I wore your shirt, let you in, let you own me, how long would it be before I was nothing but a part of you anymore?
Identity is so important to you, and yet you fail to recognize my right to mine.
Fuck you. Letting go, losing control – it gets you, or the ones you care about, killed.
Destroyed.
Staying true to you, to us, giving you a child, Jarod – would you want to name it Kyle if it was a boy? – would be drawing words from my lips. It would be a sign that what we have is real, that I love you, love what would be a creation of our love. There can be no creation of love where love does not exist, and I refuse to bring another into the world only to live a life as loveless as ours.
I can never love you.
My soul rots in hell and my heart weeps for the past – and while yours is large enough to encompass all you meet, love will never be willingly pumped through my veins again.
Those missing pieces can never be returned to me, and when you speak of me releasing to you all I can afford to offer, it’s not much. You’ve taken more than I was willing to give and now, as you feel complete, all that remains in my world as I lie in a stranger’s bed and twist my wedding band and think of you, is that which I don’t have – the holes, the darkness, the emptiness.
What’s lost that you left me with, and tomorrow.
Lost is all I am; all I can be. This is what you left me with, this is what you made me, and this is all I know.
Things like this cannot be changed.
I am an embodiment of who you shaped me to be. I grew from a seed to a flower, planted under their conditions and growing in whichever way they led me to believe the sun was but, ultimately, I was following you.
I’m sick.
Sick and tired of being sick and tired – of this world, this life. I’m sick of you acting like you actually give a damn. Because of what we were, what we are, what we’re supposed to be. Friends, enemies, lovers, siblings, soul mates, partners in crime. Victims, innocents. The unforgiven.
The fox and the hound, the princess and the kitchen boy, the beauty and the beast.
We’re all of them, none of them. Because are we truly, honestly, any of those things other than damned? I don’t call this a relationship. I call this an apathetic acquaintance. I call this a one way road, a guessing game, a piece of shattered glass. Use, abuse, exploitation. Sneaking around, snapping, snarling, sulking. You yell, I yell, and when we’re not yelling we’re just putting up with it because we can’t be bothered fighting anymore. Trying is just that – trying. Our lives are just a whole heap of trying and never succeeding; things like this cannot be changed.
There’s much between us – good, and bad, and most of it, all of it, tainted by shadows. What we have is history. When people speak of history, it’s always in past tense and you know it; it’s behind us and maybe that’s where it’s better off staying.
You don’t know me, even if you think you do, and I’m not even going to pretend I know you. We might have understood each other once, but it changed. We changed. Years went by and everything, absolutely everything, changed.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost…
A mantra.
We’re standing here after an era of flight.
Face to face, and the tension is no less than it’s ever been. We share a glance, a dream, a curse. We share so much and we’re still so alone, even as our fingertips dance across each other’s skin and we move to silent music in the moonlight.
You think you love me. You say it every day, maybe to hear it, but you never do. I’ve led a life of lies and I won’t tell you something I can’t take back. Maybe it’s true, maybe I’ve forgotten what love is. But if you do love me, put my needs before your desires. Let me be free – and I can’t be free while I’m tied indefinitely to you. If you love me, understand. If you love me, let me go.
Your love is what makes me want to leave you.
I should have known it would never work, and maybe deep down, I did. I’m not happy here and while I thank you for making me realize it, I need you to understand that you’ve been just as blind as I have.
I can’t be what you want me to be. Consider it a lipstick kiss in the corner of the bathroom mirror after a one night stand; I’m not being ungrateful, I’m being appreciative. I’m preserving what little hope we have left rather than taking the risk of losing it all. I’m starting to think, right about the same time you started to stop.
Consider this my two weeks notice, my white flag, my resignation to a force greater than you. Anything but goodbye.
I’m not going anywhere, but things can’t stay the same.
You’re certain this is the solution. I see what you don’t; that you can’t begin to be impartial towards something so close. You’re still human, and pretending only goes so far.
It started with a box, a Pandora’s box – supposedly holding some old, dusty papers that have caused the loss of the lives of many – why would you want to read them? Because they’re right, because you want to let them dictate our lives, or just because you want to tell them they’re wrong?
So many times you’ve told me to have faith and believe.
Believe in what? That even dice have destiny?
There’s no such thing as fate where chance is concerned; fate is a scapegoat for people that can’t handle their own problems. You can estimate, guess, pick an outcome based on probability but Jarod – this was never something you could sim.
Your path, my path. That’s what they are – two different paths; leading away from each other, towards each other, across oceans and through unmarked terrain, but we’re led there by our own choices. You act like the scrolls would tell you for us life held something more – what would you do if they said what I’ve always feared – that those paths will just go on forever? That where we end up will be back where we started, alone even if we’re side by side, no matter how you strive to bind us together? You’re a genius, Jarod, you know what parallels are – they’re two lines, running each next to the other, never meeting. They’re our lives. They’re us. They’re what, if anything, we were fated to be.
You wanted to read the scrolls, because if you didn’t, you’d be forever wondering and so they’d control you anyway. I guess it leaves you with little choice because no matter what, you’ve let it be so that they can still rule over your – our – life, no matter where we escape to.
Damn it, Jarod - you were supposed to be the smart one.
You let them rule you, and because of them, you’ve doomed everything we could have been.
You asked me to marry you.
I’m a shell of the woman I used to be; I said yes because if I’m going to be unfulfilled no matter what, I might as well opt for what allows you to be content. You keep on pretending – try as best you can to build up the illusion of a happily ever after and act as if you love me like a man should love his wife.
I wear your ring but I can’t – won’t – have your children.
You think it’s because I have insecurities concerning my own childhood, that maybe I’m too old and tired, or that I don’t want to pass on the Parker legacy. In every respect you’re wrong; I can’t give you a child because if one existed, to do what I am doing to you would hurt too much.
Think about it – I kissed him, he kissed me back. When have we ever been that simple? There was no running, no chasing, no games. No conditions, demands. It was a mutual exchange, easy, noncommittal. Not obligatory. He didn’t tell me I’m beautiful, that he’d go to the ends of the earth for me, or make me feel as if I owed him something. It was the giving of what was wanted and needed, and for that moment, I could have loved him for it. It’s just that he had no face.
Does it cut you to know that I, your adulteress, keep my wedding band on, even as I tarnish our marriage? That he absently twists it as he touches me, and that every brush of that warm metal against skin is delicious, invigorating, dirty but wonderful and makes me feel alive in a way that you never can? He fucks with you as he fucks with me and as he fucks with us both it fucks with our marriage. Our pretend. Our cage.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost.
Lost…
A mantra.
You don’t hate me. You’re not mad. You don’t take your ring back, because you know there’s no one else’s finger you could bear to see it on. Betrayal is something you’re accustomed to, and you can deal with it. You only want to know why I do it, and it’s because I needed to prove to myself that I can hurt you, that I am capable of breaking away from you.
I cannot belong to you.
My loyalty is the only thing I still have any control over, which is why it must be my own. To be faithful to you is to surrender; to let you envelope me and to do so is to place my life in your hands. You’re the one person left on this earth with the power to destroy me - and you will, and you won’t even know you’ve done it.
You’re killing me slowly, Jarod. Feeding off a soul that was sold to the devil and therefore can never be replenished. You want everything, all of me, when I don’t have it myself. Parts of me – like parts of you – were stolen and I never got them back.
There’s a hole in my heart for every loved life that wasn’t spared – a bullet wound for each they all received. A tear in my flesh for my mother, for Tommy, for a little girl that died because of what she saw in an elevator. Pieces of my existence that no longer hold me together.
It’s the reason I don’t always come home at night, it’s the reason I often cry once the lights are off and you’ve been sated. It’s the reason I never wear your shirts – it was something I did while devoted to Tommy, and it’s another sector of my core that I can’t hand over.
You found your mother whereas mine is gone for good, you receive from your father where mine has never known how to give. You have your sister while I lost mine, a clone that is the silver lining of a travesty and though you are without your brother and I am not, I’m the one that’s the twin of a product of hell. He’s the last connection I have, save you. Two half siblings that I’d die for; the only proof that I have something left to live for.
I wouldn’t die for you.
You have your ordained loves; Nia, Rachel, Zoë. I’ve seen the files – you had affection where I lacked intimacy and when Thomas came along, the sole relationship I had that was not a fabrication of the Centre, I lost him in my foolishness.
If I wore your shirt, let you in, let you own me, how long would it be before I was nothing but a part of you anymore?
Identity is so important to you, and yet you fail to recognize my right to mine.
Fuck you. Letting go, losing control – it gets you, or the ones you care about, killed.
Destroyed.
Staying true to you, to us, giving you a child, Jarod – would you want to name it Kyle if it was a boy? – would be drawing words from my lips. It would be a sign that what we have is real, that I love you, love what would be a creation of our love. There can be no creation of love where love does not exist, and I refuse to bring another into the world only to live a life as loveless as ours.
I can never love you.
My soul rots in hell and my heart weeps for the past – and while yours is large enough to encompass all you meet, love will never be willingly pumped through my veins again.
Those missing pieces can never be returned to me, and when you speak of me releasing to you all I can afford to offer, it’s not much. You’ve taken more than I was willing to give and now, as you feel complete, all that remains in my world as I lie in a stranger’s bed and twist my wedding band and think of you, is that which I don’t have – the holes, the darkness, the emptiness.
What’s lost that you left me with, and tomorrow.
