Show and Tell: Fin.
He didn’t reply. He called: “I don’t know what you felt, but I told you that I was dating…” True, he had told me he’d started dating. And she was…pretty. But we could’ve been beautiful. I suppose my hope was to show him the picture I’d painted on the walls of my brain, and that that masterpiece might be made real. But the problem with art is that it’s often subjective: One person sees the future, the past, the present while the other sees absolutely nothing at all.
Much like my confessional, I don’t remember much of this conversation besides the fact that he was basically confirming that I was, indeed, crazy. Nothing I felt was real. The look at the elevators was nothing more than a conversation between two strangers destined to become temporary friends. The walks were just walks. The talks were just talks. As I often do, I vented by vlogging — quite vaguely, mind you — about how I’d, yet again, fallen victim to unrequited feelings. And then I got blocked.
To clear the air and to make sure this man wasn’t having any gay-bashing ideas, I asked, “are we okay? Is there a reason you blocked me?” Somewhat standoffish and completely devoid of the magic I’d once felt radiating from him, he said, “yeah, I’m just switching up the way I do things…”
“…ok,” is all I could say as he walked away.
Eventually, he quit and I never saw him again.
The story of me and my coworker was not the first or last time that I thought what was, wasn’t.
While having a conversation about feelings recently, I was told, “I’ll show you before I tell you.”
I keep repeating that to myself: “I’ll show you before I tell you.”
“I’ll show you before I tell you.”
“I’ll show you before I tell you.”
How do you trust what’s being shown when your dreams have been made mere delusions?
How do you trust your heart and your eyes when they’ve both lied?
