TENDENCIA · BARÉIN · ÚLTIMOS 7 DÍAS

This is for you, the person I told. I'm not going to yell. I've done that already, and you've seen how it goes: you get quiet, I get louder, and by the end of it I'm saying sorry for my tone. So I'm saying this calmly, and I want you to know that calm isn't a good sign. I told you in the car that time, when I could barely look at you. I told you again in the kitchen, with my hands shaking, trying so hard to choose the right words. I told you over text because I thought maybe writing it out would make it land. I told you what that joke does to me. I told you what it feels like when you go silent for a whole day and act like I imagined it. I told you why it matters to me that you don't talk to her like that, why I need you to come home when you say you will, why that one thing cuts as deep as it does. You nodded. You held my hand. You said you understood, and I believed you, and I went to sleep that night feeling so relieved. Then you did it again. Not by accident, either, and that's the part I can't get past. You know exactly where the bruise is because I showed it to you. I took your hand and put it on the spot and said, "This is where it hurts, please be careful here." And you keep pressing it, and then you look at me like you can't figure out why I flinched. I don't think you wake up trying to hurt me. I really don't. I know you've got your own stuff, and I know you weren't raised with much practice at this. Maybe it doesn't seem like a big deal to you, and I know that it's easy to forget what doesn't hurt you. But I've run out of ways to say it. This is the part you should worry about. When I was angry, I still thought you could hear me. I was still fighting for this. Now I notice I've stopped bringing things up. I don't check whether you're in a good mood first. I don't rehearse. I just go quiet and adjust a little, and each time I expect less from you, and I suspect you think that means we're doing better. It isn't peace, it's me giving up one small piece at a time. So I'm not mad. I wish I were. Anger still has some hope in it. I'm just disappointed, because I told you multiple times how I feel about those things, and you heard me, and you still chose them. I need you to understand that word. Forgetting is something that happens to you, but you chose this.

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