Walls...And being wrong...

People get in…and sometimes I can’t control it. Sometimes, they sneak in at the one moment in an eternity that I let my guard down…and when they do, I can only hope that they are worth it.

And sometimes I find that they are worth it. Sometimes I find, like I did with Spliff, that there could never be a friendship as true…but other times, I make mistakes. I let people in who don’t deserve the walls broken for them. And when that happens, I immediately try to retrace my steps. To build back the wall that I am so used to. But most times, that doesn’t work. They are already on my side. And whether they choose to use that power for good or for evil is no longer my choice. And I feel betrayed.

In some sense, I suppose that I have complete control over who gets in, but maybe I am ashamed of making bad choices. Maybe I am afraid to own them.

Presently, I am in this situation. I want desperately to run screaming through the streets that someone is a fake. I want to tell the world what that person is capable of, but I am paralyzed. Not because the desire is not there, but because I am bigger than he. I am smarter, I am more honest, and I am (contrary to popular belief) a caring and very genuine person and I will not stoop to the level of mediocrity and immaturity that I have seen displayed.

I am tired of playing cat and mouse. I am tired of letting myself believe that any good can come from this sort of ridiculous game. But mostly, the person to whom I am referring has become someone I hardly know. And to me, it is easier to walk away and risk only the sadness that comes from mourning what is lost, than it is to pretend that nothing is wrong and facing, yet again, the disappointment which that person has brought me.

I feel a war brewing. One that has started with his own intention and in his own mind. One that I will never succumb to and one that he can never, ever win. The problem here is that we can never be completely separate. We can never be away from the haunting reality that this has happened and we will never be free of it until someone (not me) is adult enough to react in a positive way instead of one which perpetuates this charade.

Right now, I feel loss. But more than that, I feel pity. Pity for he who cannot be a man. Pity for he who cannot grow with age. For he who cannot admit when he is seeing ghosts. For he who breaks down walls in false pretenses.