now that i'm here, i'd really like to leave. or not. maybe. we'll see. this is it for me, the terminus, the last stand, the line in the sand.
i like the way summer rain smells. it smells like something i'd forgotten. and when i remember it, it smells even better.
it's just that i get restless. i unnecessarily complicate the already complicated, and i go out of my way to make myself miserable. i know what i want, but not how to get it. i shut down.
if what i think happened the way i think it happened, then i may have had a very near miss. it's hard to piece together overheard snippets of conversation and ambiguous statements with what you believe to be accurate. it's possible that, as bad as it was, it could've been much worse. and i got an apology (which may or may not be sincere) out of it.
the real thing that bothers me is i don't know who started it. easy enough once it spreads, an oil slick on top of the water, heavy with innuendo and crass observations, a poison pool of rumor and falsehood. but the one kernel of truth gleaming faintly in the darkness it what carries it all on, makes every last lie believable.
one person started it. i know that much. and i have two people in mind.
the first is the one i desperately want to suspect. it would fit; after all, who else would you tell but your own relations? it doesn't matter how nice people may seem. little boys gossip.
the second is also possible, but i really don't want to believe. it's horribly possible. it's even likely. extremely. i won't accept it. but suspicion still creeps in the cracks, gathering darkness in the corners, waiting... especially after the way i acted. no reason to have any sort of loyalty to me. not that i didn't hope anyway. see where that got me. don't hope. don't even try to fight it. just give in.
nobody was straight with me afterwards. only one person told me what was happening. i lied to him. i wish i hadn't, it only compounds what i did. the rest of them waited and talked. in whispers, mutters only just loud enough to make out snatches of here and there.
and it's snowballed, falling on my friends who never did anything wrong, and who are suffering all the same. because of me.
i wish i hadn't done it, but i'm still not entirely sorry that i did. what kind of person does that make me? or are they the ones who are wrong?
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