...With Less Guile & Fewer Escape Routes

Any way that I tell you my story you won't believe. I can only ask that you read this and disconnect the device in your head that repeats at intervals how I never listen to what you have to say. You may be older than me, but as you always manage to point out, your engine of recall seems to be superior to mine.

Through this fishbowl lens of my so called life, you've always said you been looking for the truth most of the time. Recently, that expression has come to settle on me, and I've felt like Odysseus, albeit with less guile and fewer escape routes. The lens itself embodying the one-eyed cyclops. You're not the monster; my face that's reflected back in the lens is, or I am.

Still, since you won't listen I want to tell you this whole tale as I know it, as scary as that strikes me from my current juncture. However many emails I've sent, the millions of text messages I have logged, I've still managed to hurt you, and not just with our relationship, but with the abundant shouting matches and scorned I love You's.

Just I vanished from you life once, you have managed to do the same. I now find myself occupying those thoughts trying to divulge your psychic mysteries of why you are this way. It's a discomfiting sensation.

You know the true story, in broad outline and have steered clear of speaking it to your friends and parents. Your healthy fence you've built managed to block my public life from your private one. And this is crazy. Strictly crazy, as I've always said.

I would have never thought to go over this footage myself but for you, the one who is showing me my life to me through a new window alters my posture on the planet. not to mention my part I've played with you. I partly see myself through your vantage. I've always been the one that's been concerned, trying to protect you from feelings, trying to be understanding. I was understand. I understood.

It's my testament that I wish to avoid further conflict that I'm telling you plainly this way. The time I spend is mostly thinking of you, those china blue eyes, and embossed smile. That's the story I want to tell: how everything started to fall a part. How my life got increasingly harder, and my actions became impossible. In Odyssean terms, I want to be the hero here, but instead I'm winding up as the monster.But because you were apart of my life I don't want my last stand to be as the monster. I'm hoping that these writings become the agent of my rescue.

It's funny how much you remind me of the Odyssey, and how you can always manage to be blameless. It's what Odysseus wished for his son, Telemachus: to live guilt free. I once was bedazzled how Odysseus boffed witches and fought monsters, and as I ink these words my only wish is that you instead of being blameless, that you look more objectively,-or try to. As I am starting to become a stranger to you in most ways, you become more familiar to yourself. Maybe someday you can loan me some of the shine, and blamelessness you have in your head so I can clear up the leftover darkness in mine. In exonerated by this nightmare of what has become of us. My only hope is to show you that I've come to peace now.

Before you hung up the phone that night, I thought what you were going to tell me was the most dramatic news that I'd heard that night. Expect you added that we're no longer us because of me. I listened to our memories disappear down the stairs and wanted to call you back but thought better of it. Your girlfriend wanted to be with you, and you didn't want to be with her. And something about those china blue eyes drew me back from the immediate sorrow. Instead of me watching a Odysseus sail away on a ship it, it was you that was standing there in my throat-clenching, tear-streaming nostalgia.

You've disembarked now, and I see it every day. Hopefully by telling you my story, you can better tells yours,which is the only way to get us back, by which I mean to get free of us.