i seem to hang on to emotion very easily—
whether it be in the instance where I want
to scream until my lungs collapse,
or the one where i want to just smile and laugh
until my lungs disintegrate, and my cheeks
rip apart from the strain.
i took to you like you were a good novel
that i cherished, but also criticized, throughout the whole thing.
whether it was from the gooey romance sections
or the drama sections where we sat across the paddle boat
across from one another
where you screamed and hit me with the paddle
just so you could watch me flip the boat
because i couldn't stand to hear something
that was true about myself,
that you couldn't bear to tell me
and now, as i sit here
contemplating everything i've ever done—
i like to think i come out of this a better man for it,
but honestly i've come to think, that even though i strive
for my back to not break,
for my hands to not callous,
and for my mind to not wither—
that isn't simply how it works
the only stage you become better in,
is even if your actions caused me this pain,
even if i did play a part in our very own "Midsummer's Night Dream,"
and it causes me to lose everything i hold dear,
that, much like Guy Finley...
...I must learn The Secret to Letting Go.