In A Manner of Speaking (Nouvelle Vague)


So today’s story is not about me – but a close friend, Four, who is as sad as me for reasons completely different.

The story of this friend is not an unfamiliar one.
You may have heard something like it from one of your friends, or worse, you may have went through it yourself.

The title of the story is Two Pebbles In One Pocket.
I stole this title from another friend, an old friend La Dispute, whom I lost to the same story.

But let me get to this “mysterious” story, right?

The way La Dispute explained the title was like this:
You put two perfect pebbles in your pocket. And you think – they’re perfect! nothing’s going to happen!
But then as you go along your day, those two pebbles will continuously smash into each other; and however strong pebble stones may be, they will scratch each other, bruise and break one another. The longer they remain in that pocket, together, they will bruise one another. And once they are out of that pocket, you’ll see, that they are not the same perfect pebbles.
They’re crooked, imperfect.

“In a manner of speaking,
I don’t understand how love in silence can become reprimand”

Where I am trying to go with this is, there is a point in relationships – when it becomes more “bruising” then “loving” one another. And that means its time to let the pebbles out of your pocket.

Four, loves a boy. She loves him with all her heart. Despite everything. Every single mean thing he has ever done to her. For Four, everything good that this boy has brought in her life is so much more important than feeling “good” all the time.

But Four has not felt good for a while now, and it breaks my heart to see that she has to hold onto a past happiness to convince herself to keep loving this boy.

“In a manner of speaking,
Semantics won’t do.
In this life we live we only make do.”

And honestly, I get it.
As desperate as I am for a breath of real love, I would hold onto anyone who would bring me that, even if it meant they would get to break my heart whenever they wanted.
This is where “longing for love” can bring you.
And I understand it.
But it just is not okay.

We deserve love completely.
We don’t deserve a half-assed love.
We don’t deserve late night ILU texts, if it means we’ll get a “fuck off” as soon as something goes wrong.
None of us do.

“And the way that we feel might have to be sacrificed”

So today, I wished my friend the courage to not love this boy anymore. The courage to scrape him off of her heart.
We both knew it was impossible. Impossible, indefinitely.

“Oh give me the words, give me the words that tell me nothing.”

If I were to bring closure to my story with La Dispute, whom I stole the pebble story from, I would say that even though it took me a while, I did get us both out of that mess. I couldn’t see myself being so sad, so often, so helplessly. And I couldn’t stand seeing him constantly questioning my love for him.
So one day I said “I am tired of feeling sad, aren’t you?”
And by nature, La Dispute got furious, declared that I was so inconsiderate and blind.
I responded “This. This is exactly what I am saying. I love you. But I cannot let you keep hurting me.”
“So you think you are the only one hurting?”
“I never said that. Though, I tread my words so carefully, that I don’t know how I could ever hurt you”
“Wonderful! So I am everything wrong in this relationship?! And you never do nothing wrong?!”
“You see, I never said that either. Why can’t you just listen to me?”
“And now I am the one who does not listen–”
“You keep twisting my words–”
“Yes I do that right that’s also my fault–”
“Why are you doing–”
“Yes yes. I am the one who’s do–”
“Why can’t we jus–”
“I bet that’s my fault too–”

So I brought an end to this sensless hurting:
I took us out of my pocket, threw both of us in the ocean, as far as I could.

“Oh give me the words, give me the words that tell me everything.”



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