Waking Up the Dead

It all came back to me, crushing me with exasperating nostalgia. If it was the right thing to do, it surely doesn’t feel like it. Apparently I wanted to do that; I wanted to do it for so long that now I can’t even remember why I wanted to do it. It hurts so much. He was once a friend; a great friend even with all the drama, the nagging, and all the things that I hated about him. He was also my fix, my own OD, and I was addicted to his substance abuse. It went so bad in the past, me being so nagging, he being so broken and overwhelmed, me falling in love with his friend and nearly getting engaged to him. It was flooding us all; we were drowning under our incomprehension of our own desires and needs. The consummation was eating at us, slowly, happily, and quietly that we didn’t even realize it until it was too late. It was too late that all of our bonds were broken, all of our bridges burned down. I was on one side of the mountain, while they were on the other side of the valley, so far apart that we couldn't even see one another, feel one another, or understand what we were going through. Such desperate separation acted like a poison burning through the veins of our relationship. It was dying and failing rapidly and horribly. The antidote was unknown at the time, and remains unknown to this day. Trying to clear waters, after more than a year of torturing silence, feels like digging out the dead corpse of our lost relationship and trying to do CPR, even though CPR attempts have failed before calling out the time of death. It doesn’t even stop here. In desperation, I don’t stop at the CPR failure, I try to force life into the cold dead by all means possible that I am now creating Frankenstein’s monster. Now I am doing as Frankenstein did, he was so excited towards the results of his experiments that he has forgotten what the consequences might be, creating an overwhelming creature that is so lost in emotional turmoil and fragments of past lives of two or more people who are long dead and gone. Same inputs and givens, being examined through the same scope and used in the same way, give the same result. If it went any further than what it has gone already, if any further attempts were made to try firing life through our death, I will be creating the monster that Frankenstein was so scared of and the fire of this alleged spark of life will back fire at us all. It will devour all of what we had left of good memories, whether fading or vivid with colors and scents. Some relationships are better left dead, with no resolution or reconciliation. Don’t bring out the dead if it has already been gone for so long that now its life will be more disrupting and destructive than the beauty it had during its lifetime.