I was around sixteen years old when I realised
That I had abandonment issues interwoven into my skin
Like they had become antibodies to a disease
That my brain was convinced was imminent.
And it seems selfish to feel like death is the same as abandonment,
But all I know is that I’m sitting here waiting
For a phone call that’s never coming,
A voice that’s never going to speak.
Abandonment hurts because you know they’re not coming back.
Death hurts because you know they’re not coming back.
And to be honest I’ve never been the type of person
Who believes that pain is the risk you pay for love.
Naivety is armour for the young to use,
But now it feels like a double edged sword,
Because I want to understand as much as I never want to learn
How this is something that I’m supposed to accept.
When the attacks on Paris happened I felt disgust toward the attackers,
But the attacks on Brussels just happened and I felt disgust toward myself
For reading the news and feeling my pain was too great to care
About tragedies, abandonments, deaths I didn’t have to feel.
Because it turns out this is the kind of selfishness I’m afflicted with,
From not wanting to get close to anyone so they can’t leave me,
To wishing in the wake of this pain everyone I know outlives me,
Because this type of pain is a price I never agreed to pay.
It’s the type of pain that makes human consciousness feel like a curse,
An emptiness that’s all-consuming because you realise
They are just as essential in practice as they were in theory,
It’s the type of pain that makes me wish I was born without the capacity to feel.
Suddenly it just doesn’t feel like abandonment issues are a weakness,
Or that feeling their imminence is irrational,
It feels like like my selfishness is preferable to ever feeling like this again,
Because love loses its beauty when you learn it’s designed to tear you apart.