I know, I know…
… and yet I don’t know anything.
The first time I read through today’s extremely beautiful Word Problem, I remembered reading about the Carrington Event (while working on a different communiqué from Captain Cryptic…*This Fall, On NBC!*). And when I read of the two operators talking to each other, I thought ‘that’s a beautiful metaphor for us’.
I know, I know. It is beautiful, this thing. Passing these hidden secret notes, this is something that’s not lost on me. It’s beautiful.
I also have to point out that if I attempt to explain it to someone and say I’m seeing these hidden secret messages to me in your social media posts, I see an unmistakable facial expression of the thought ‘the poor girl, she’s probably just seeing what she wants to see, this is is troubling’. Trying to tell someone about this makes me sound and feel pathetic. And crazier than I actually am. But that’s not the most problematic thing about how this is still the only way you’ll communicate with me.
By the way- is it truly communicating when what we’re saying isn’t necessarily clear to the other person? Those two operators were directly addressing each other, no mistaking what the other was trying to convey, right? That’s what was so miraculous, a glowing interstellar phenomenon in the airspace carrying their exact thoughts, their words, across thousands of miles, clearly, instantly. It must have felt nothing less than holy.
And yes, there’s nothing like speaking to someone through poetry, especially someone I feel so passionate about.
But this is the only way you’ll ‘say’ anything at all to me. Plenty of times, I can’t be sure if you’re talking to me or not. I still know nothing about when I’ll see you again- the clearest response I can parse from you is ‘maybe, Someday, hopefully’.
I don’t even know for sure if you’re going to stand me up or not later next month- and
You’re Unavailable, keeping me waiting outside your closed door with no end in sight,
no end to this night full of fears,
full of old ghosts of love withheld,
and of a girl’s reverberating feelings of worthlessness, loneliness, and isolation
worse yet, there’s nothing I can do about it either. it’s always the same
the other person is there for me-
and yet not there.
So not there.
My whole life
like a husband who says he loves me, who is also gone all the time and won’t touch me.
Of course you’re enjoying this exchange, this ‘Cosa Nostra’. You’re in the know about me and my life- but you don’t have to get vulnerable or tell me a thing, really. Or, very little. Crumbs of truth that have to be teased carefully out of recesses, and even then you won’t confirm or deny they exist.
you hold all the cards. I’m sitting here with the Old Maid, the Joker, and the instructions card.
I keep trying to explain so many times to you that all this secret & unacknowledged & unconfirmed shit- this way you insist on not-talking to me- is not healthy for me. It feels awful, it keeps hitting the most painful places and I keep telling you I can’t keep doing this
and you keep doing the same thing
and there’s no reason-
no reason I can come up with
for why you won’t even talk to me
“Just hang in there, I’ll call you Someday, Maybe- but keep telling me stuff out here in public”