The gloomy evening seems to enhance the boredom manifold as I wait, my smartphone loosely clenched, for one text. Just one! I'm agitated. My head is flooded with a million thoughts all about the same thing. Why is there no text?
Then it finally came. "Hi"
Now my mind is blank, all the million thoughts seem to have vanished. I don't have anything to say. "Hey," I reply. "Wassup!"
Another long pause. Thoughts populate my head once again. This is getting frustrating now.
After a while though, the conversation picks up.
"How u?" He asks.
"Good, how u?" I reply. "good," he says.
The texts go on a similar one-phrase path for another ten minutes. Neither of us wants to express what we really feel. We don't have the courage; at least I don't! The truth is, I'm afraid of what would happen.
In the not so distant past when conversations were more open, I did express what I felt to him. It was like a film. The drama, the action. "Was it real?" I would ask myself. "Can life really have so much drama?" In the end I concluded, "He's being fake!" But I still could not get my mind off him. I still deeply felt he was the most wonderful person I met; I felt there could be no one better in this world. I was partly right.
He was sweet to me, but only when he needed something. He would talk to me and make me sway, but only while being grateful for the favours I did to him. He would say the kindest words anyone would want to hear, but only when it was opportune for him to do so. But he was still my world, my everything.
It did not matter at all that this relationship we shared was all a game of pretend. It did not bother me though I knew he would change colour in a flash and disappear without warning. I wanted to be at his service always. I wanted him to be happy no matter how much I suffered to achieve that end. I persisted and I must say, I killed myself persisting.
I try to avoid, because I want to. I want to get away from this play, this film, this drama; whatever you want to call it.But I'm unable to. They say some people have a grip on you. They don't want you, they also don't want to let you go. That's where I'm stuck. I'm no actor, I can't be a part of this play!
His film is beautiful. His script, perfect. But I don't see where I fit in. Regretfully, I choose to soldier on. With a heavy heart I choose to continue despite these scars on my back, which are a gift for my slavery. I choose because I'm stupid, I'm trapped. I can't get out! I need help. But more foolishly, I choose to stay because I care even though I know he doesn't.
Can this goon forever? I'm sure it will. Because of his control. He is the puppeteer, I'm his wooden prop who he can control as he wishes.
I still want to be his prop. I don't know why.
But I can't act.