October 20th, 00:54 | claws in
I remember. I remember what it was like to listen to ridiculous, angsty Stabbing Westward albums, and even though I saw through some of it, saw the petulant, sophomoric quality to it, I remember feeling overwhelmed by the raw sincerity or something I imagined in it. I remember wanting to reach out, wanting to wrap up the lead singer ("chris") in warmth and protection, and forever, and soothing.
I remember the fear I felt that night, crouched on that hard, hard living room floor. I remember worrying that I would break everything, and I wouldn't be able to fix it; the one thing I hate most in the world. I remember.
I remember sitting on my bed, so many nights these past couple years, wondering where that girl went, the one who wanted to wrap an angsty lead singer up in her wings and make everything okay. I remember wondering when the hell she disappeared and when this weak, shivering fraud appeared in her place, curled up, hugging her knees, desperately wishing for someone to wrap her up and hide her from the world.
I remember feeling safe, so safe and happy, and wondering how I got so lucky. I remember waking up quiet, lazy mornings, and not wanting to stretch for fear of waking you up, but smiling and being happy in the sense that no matter what the world threw our way, it'd be alright, because we were Us. I remember not thinking much about anything, because I had faith.
I remember feeling helpless every time I tried to ask what was wrong, every time I tried to help. And I remember you telling me that just talking to me was enough, that you felt better. I remember not being satisfied with that, and wondering when I was going to get to haul my own weight, when I'd get to be the one with wings outstretched, the one who knew that things would be alright. I remember not remembering the girl who listened to Stabbing Westward.
It's not about blame, it's not about credit. It never should have been. I can try harder to hear what you say; I've been trying with my mom for years. But I can't be what I think you want me to be, even if you say it's just me. I'm not afraid to need anyone. I need so many people I can't honestly pretend to independence. But I can remember what it's like to be needed and helpful too.
I've missed this feeling. The late night, claws ready (not necessarily out), curled up, prepared to spring. I feel like I can feel a skeleton made of steel (even I'm not made of adamantium) moving inside me. My eyes glow, they feel bigger, I feel the edges in everything. Edgey. Night-edge. I don't miss hunting. So weird to say that, but it's true. I don't miss hunting at all. I just miss being a hunter. The one watching, the one who knows what's going on, the one who's got their fears under control.
One more thing I didn't have words for; I was never a hunter with you.
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