Unknown

Dear Oblivion,

Look, you have a name now. I don’t know what else to call you. You were a transient being, causing calamity in your wake. Reasons I’ve been told, for why you didn’t search that hard. The disconnect is superior to my fears about you.

“What does it feel like?” I don’t know. I have no frame of reference. When I think of you, I’m back at the playground. Minding my own business, probably on the swings. There were moments you might have come to introduce yourself. Moments where you could have been proud of me. I was a good student. Or maybe you could have praised my creativity through all the pain it caused me. What kept me alive also kept me burning. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to become an adult so young. Or maybe the rumors were right, you would have brought chaos into my soul. I guess I’ll never know. I’ll never know you. Did you try? Supposedly you did. But I was hidden. Hidden in plain sight. There’s no excuse for you, but I harbor no grudge. Not going to poison myself over you. Instead I’ll accept the numbness. The numb beating heart that lost its curiosity about you.

Did you know I found you once? Another state over. Years ago. Now I can’t remember your real name. Trouble with the law, it seemed. Everyone asks about you all the time. But what is there to say? Did you even exist? Not for me. And there’s more like me. I’d like to know them though, or did you abandon them too? I can’t use my imagination with you, what’s the point? Why would I dream a fantasy that could never be? Or would you be hell inside my utopia? Maybe it’s best I never knew you. But what kind of person could you be? Maybe you are that person now. I’m not hard to find. Do you internet stalk me? I know you know my name. Yours printed is “Unknown.”

Whispers of your person were rare, like you were a legend only told to those worthy. I must not have passed the test. I always saw myself as a diamond in the rough and that one day someone would see the diamond. Did I subconsciously think it would be you? I don’t think so. I don’t think about you. If I did, I could feel anger forming. Thank goodness for the disconnection. Now I don’t have to feel. To feel the rage against abandonment. To feel the sorrow of being born an adult. To feel the pain of isolation. An exile of sorts. I don’t have to feel your guilt. Or deal with your remorse, your excuses. Or even your responsibility, I don’t want open arms. I don’t want comfort from you. I don’t want relief in your version. I don’t want a facade of freedom, of what could have been. Thank goodness I don’t have to feel rejection. Or beg to be seen.

I’m not waiting or dreaming for you. I never did. I’m dreaming for me, and if one day you arrive, I’ll shake your hand, stranger. That’s all you’ll be. No history, no stories. An acquaintance long lost. But you won’t. If you were going to, you would have already, right?

Thank goodness I don’t care about you.