Gold (10/11/14)

I have made the decision to let you go. I don’t think you’ll even notice. I think you stopped caring on the day I stopped hiding. You tried to tell yourself otherwise and so did I. But it wasn’t a fa├žade we could keep up, especially you. I pushed for it, tried my best, but it wasn’t enough. You gave up before I did, I think, and now I know that I should let you go. I couldn’t, before, because of all the pretty things you’d said to me – I couldn’t let go of them and I couldn’t believe that you would let them go – but now I know. What was gold to me was spare change to you, and I’ll bury that treasure in the garden with all the other things I long to forget. Gold is hard, and cold, and it means nothing. I cannot do anything with it, and nobody will take it from me. You don’t want it back. People don’t usually ask the poor to give them back their change, and neither will you. Even if I pooled all my riches together you wouldn’t take them, you wouldn’t want even one piece of my treasure, because it means nothing to you. I am sad and wasteful and too generous, and this scares you. I can only stare at cold gold coins until I bury them in the backyard, and maybe one day you’ll want them back, but I doubt it. They’ll always be there, though. What was made cannot be unmade, what was said cannot be unsaid, and what was done cannot be undone. But God, I wish I could.