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Old Texts
By
Daisy

Old Texts

Old messages bring the past rushing back.

This musing only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

Sometimes, I remember my phone's inbox is getting too full. When I am waiting for the bus, I go through and delete old messages.

Just a sprinkling of words in a little message can bring me torrents of emotions. Some of them make me smile in passing, some of them make me snigger, and some of them remind me of wonderful days and people.

Others, however, stab me over and over again. Now and again, it's because they are something hurtful. At the time, I could not bear to delete them, in case I overreacted, and I needed to go back and check it when I had calmed down.

And, after time has passed, when I find those few messages again, I know in my crappy little heart that I was right to react the way that I did. But it makes me ask myself, how did I see that person as anything other than what they turned out to be in that message? How did I fool myself into thinking they were somebody who cared?

Did I see the person through clear eyes, as if looking at the pebbles in a moorland pool? Or does the peat brown richness disguise their true colours from my needy eyes, making them appear clad in warm, friendly hues, when really, their colours are shades of ice?

They say that when things go wrong repeatedly, the only thing in common is us. Me, in fact. People turn on me because of me.

Other messages are full of sweet whispers, gentle little intimacies of care and tenderness. But they slash right through bare skin like blunted razors, tearing flesh away away from the bone in rags.

Because, just like the few ugly texts of assumptions, false accusations and insults, the people behind the joy turned out to be somebody different.

A person goes from gently nudging me to share my inner self, my loves and hates, my fears and hopes. And gradually, I begin to share them. Eventually, I start to trust them in the little ways that I am able to, and they begin to own a little piece of me. It's not even just romantically, but just normal friends.

Slowly, over time, I gradually learn to share a little of my vulnerable side, the Inside Daisy. I begin to speak with more confidence, to say the things I couldn't say before, for fear of being laughed at or rejected. Essentially, I offer up a portion of my heart.

But you cannot take back that portion, ever. You literally hand it over, and you can never have it back. The dream is that, the person you give it to will love and cherish it, and never let it go. As a result, your relationship, of whatever nature, will deepen and flourish.

But if something goes wrong, and they think you unworthy of their time, affection and attention, they either throw it back in your face, broken and unwanted, or stamp on it and smear it into the pavement. Either way, part of you has died. Nothing can replace that part of your heart.

And when your heart is broken, a piece of your spirit has been torn off, too.

Elpis hides within the bottom of your life's jar, and when another person comes along, with kind words, and gentle promises of how they will not hurt you, and how they will walk alongside you with joy, she creeps to the lid to peek out.

As soon as the person turns on you, for anger, for boredom, for no need of whatever tiny offering you have, the lid is slammed down on her fingers, and once more, Elpis lies in the dark with another handful of feathers crushed from her wings. Too many times have I felt her rising upwards, only for her to fall back into darkness when a person stops messaging, stops caring, stops wanting my company, and stops wanting me.

I whisper to Elpis what I feel is the truth. I tell her that nobody can be trusted. I know this, because every time I dare to let somebody close to the inside of me, they either decide I am not worth talking things over with, I have served my purpose to bolster them up, or they get bored of who and what I have become. I always hoped I had something to offer, but all my old texts tell me, is that whatever it is I have to give, it is worth nothing to people. Sooner or later, they realise that.

My life motto is, "Ut incepit fidelis, sic permanet". Roughly translated, this means, "She was loyal in the beginning, and she always will be". I know my many faults, but I have always been loyal. One text that I shall always keep, from the person who first broke my heart as an adult, says, "I don't deserve you". I shall always keep that one, as a reminder that whilst he knew he deserved better than I, I bent over backwards for him many, many times. I spent hours of my life leaving my own needs unmet, only for him to turn around and hurt me cruelly when he got a better offer.

If the truth is to be told, I never thought he deserved me either. In the beginning, it was because I thought I was a worthless piece of crap. In the end, I still think I am a worthless piece of crap, but the difference now is, I poured out a heart full of care and understanding to a person who did not want it. Indeed, for a person who did not exist. He was not who he made me believe he was. And now, I simply wait for anybody else who seems to want to cajole a piece of my heart from me, to do the same as him. But until they show their true colours, I am loyal to the end.

I would kill Elpis, if I could. To feel her little flutters as she scrambles up towards the lamplight offered by people who swear they care, is torture. Because I am always waiting for that lid to slam down once more.

They do say that the one thing every failed relationship has in common is oneself. And so I fear that I shall continue this way, clearing out text messages from people I thought were friends, but who never really wanted me around. I find out the truth when somebody more interesting comes along, or they simply get tired of the pretence. I just wonder why they bother. If it is good enough to throw away so easily, was it really worth keeping me around at all?

I often say that if I don't know if anything is wrong, I cannot fix it. Likewise, if I am given opportunity to explain my own point of view, and I am ignored and rejected for how I see truth, despite accepting theirs against my own judgement, then I have only myself to blame.

And yet, I have this horrible, painful need to share what I have, even though I fight against it. Let our old texts be our lessons. We can clear them away, and we can save the ones that meant the most once upon a time, but we cannot chase away Elpis. She remains in my jar until I have no jar left. I wish that day would hurry up.

This musing only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.









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