I Don’t Want You To Know Me

Victor Bezrukov
Victor Bezrukov

I don’t want you to know that I hate chicken but secretly love chicken nuggets. I don’t want you to know that I am a sum of contradictions and hallucinations, and that I write stories in my head that never stand the chance to meet ink or paper.

I don’t want you to know that I carry the weight of wanting to be something extraordinary, but am too fearful to move forward.

I don’t want you to know that I play music but never consider myself a musician. I don’t want you to know that I stopped playing music because it reminded me of being with him; that my words were once only meant for his ears. And no, I don’t want that.

I don’t want you to know that I stay up late at night thinking about you, or that I have to actively stop myself from thinking too much about the way you make me feel. I don’t want you to know that you scare me, because I don’t want to fall back into the hole of self loathing and dark thoughts. I know you have the ability to do that to me, and no, I really don’t want that.

I don’t want to feel unworthy of your time, because I barely think I am worthy of anyone else’s either. I don’t want to feel guilty for laughing, because my mind has tricked me into thinking laugher is as fleeting as the people that come and go in my life. I don’t want to over analysis every word, or live in a constant state of self depreciation. But I am, and I have, and I don’t want that. I don’t want to explain why I am this way, or why there is a dark cloud that always looms over my thoughts. I don’t want to tell you that that they have the ability to taint every colorful memory, even that time we kissed; I can already feel the color draining from that perfect moment, and I don’t want that.

But most of all, I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be left with my thoughts alone. I don’t want to sit in my room at 2am and cry over my illness and madness. I don’t want to hate myself for never telling you how beautiful your laugh is. I don’t want to have missed the chance of holding your steady hand, and I sure as hell don’t want anyone to do that with you. Because I want you, and every ounce of you. TC mark


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