Collateral Damage

injury inflicted on something other than an intended target; specifically : civilian casualties of a military operation

Let me tell you a story. In the story is a boy and a girl. It just so happens that this girl is very much into this guy and, as people are wont to do, she told him so. He echoed this feeling back to her, possibly not sure that the feelings were fully his own, but swept into the feelings all the same. At that moment, she looked into his eyes and saw the future full of hope and possibility.

He would one day say that no one knew him better than this one he'd found. He would say she was his salvation from a dark time.

They would say a lot of things, but they would find out later that they didn't mean them equally.

One step at a time, they strode along the path of life. They got matching tattoos, they got married, they had a child; in short, they were joined in the way that only those three particular words can join people. Those three words have caused people more pain than crucifixion.

They continued walking along this path, forged by this thing they labeled as love as far as they could go. Then one day something happened: said the one to the other, "I don't love you, anymore." Shock. Dismay. Confusion. Even more so when it was explained, "Not that, I don't love you, but just not that way."

From there, everything was a haze. What did they mean? Why would they say this? The questions had been asked and the moment had been set in stone as far as the one was concerned. Said the other, "It's not that I lied to you, it's that I didn't know."

"Did you ever love me?"
"I suppose, but it just hasn't been as strong..."

Soon, the story is spun in a way that only one ever seems to have truly loved while the other senses it was just a good idea. Ah, but there is a factor. There is another and to this another is going all the affection of which it was said, "I shall never give to another such as I have given you."

How deep the wound, how sharp the slight when the one sits alone and weeps whether silently or aloud at the loss of something that they believed was not only without chance of loss, but immutable and mutually felt. It suddenly becomes, "Well, you always loved me more, anyway..."

How acute the sting as the other becomes frustrated, confused, angry as the one process feelings they don't even know how to fully deal with; they've been betrayed, hurt, and lied to, but they wish never to give these labels to the other because so great was the love they promised that they could never bring themselves to do so horrible a thing.

The days pass by. The live in the same house, use the same car, share meals; their "love" has spawned tangible symbols into the world... but now these things mean nothing (or less) because in light of another, the other has said, "The one... it wasn't real. Not like this. Not like you..." They continue to trample, both in word and deed, everything that the heart of the one ever rested in. At the same time, says the other to the one, "Please don't be upset. I didn't lie to you, but I didn't know..." "It's not like I really took anything from you; it wasn't quite that serious and... I don't know... I just...."

Eventually there is silence and then a fire. The one plans to leave. Although they will never harm this other that they have loved, the betrayal and subsequent, still-forming scars are too much to bear. They will take their love and all of the symbols of it and bear it elsewhere. Where and to what end is unknown, but wherever it may be, it can't be here.

Not here.
Not that close.
Not now.

Thinks the one to themselves amid the inner turmoil that is now the core characteristic of their soul, "I would say 'not ever', but I cannot bring myself to think like this. I just have to get away somehow. Escape the feelings assaulting me.

Every moment, a reminder that evokes feelings... the feelings that, as recently found out, are a lie and may have always been thus. Worse still is that the thoughts and their poison continue on. How long did they think like this? So much does the thought plague them that they finally get up the gumption to ask; they have to know.

Months. A while. A long time now. Answers that are crippling. How could I have loved someone so long and deeply that never truly cared for me at all? A new wave of pain surfaces and with that, more poison. A wounded heart can only take so much.

There is a new thirst forming. For all the love the one felt, they want to want to inflict pain now. They want someone – anyone – to understand how they feel and have felt, but to this someone would have to see what they've seen...

...and they have seen hell through Satan's own eyes...

So goes the story for a while. They are snappish, short, withdrawn, silent, taciturn, they often stay to themselves. Meanwhile, the other notices none of this; so enamored are they of the new thing they have found that all memories of the one are no more than the most distant of blips on a radar that decreases in sensitivity with every passing moment.

Say the other to the one, after a while of seeing them upset: "Why don't you find another as I have? Then you could be happy..."

In their efforts to make things well, they have deepened the wound by miles; there is nothing worse than being told by the one to whom you have given as much as you could that you should simply forget them and give all you can again to another who may or may not also lie to and betray them. Who is this other to ever attempt to say, "You should give...." to anyone what they themselves by their own admission never truly gave to you? How can one suggest that you give when all they have done is taken?

Shock. Horror. Mortification at the very thought just brings more poison into the system of the one. The only antidote lies within the heart of the one person that will not give theirs. Meanwhile the one revels in their newfound love as if they have never loved before...

...and from what you've gathered, they've never truly have. It wasn't intentional, but the soul of the one is just collateral damage. That's how it is treated, anyways. There's no apology for allowing loveless months to stretch on without a word until something better came along that you could leave for... and who could blame anyone for this? If you had access to someone that poured out their all in every way to make your life better in any way they could, who wouldn't take advantage of that?

"I wouldn't...." thinks the one. "...I would never have done this to another living soul. I don't want to live... if there is even life after this."

The future is a void and dark place, full of and meaning nothing for the one as their heart continues to tumble downward and inward in a blur of times, dates, images, and places where all of the words were said on which they built their faith in the love of the other. Just as the point of total collapse, there is a moment of suspension.

What happens now? They realize there is a place to go.

Where is it? Where does this path lead? It is unknown, but there is one and they must walk it if for no other reason than the only alternative is dying. When they attempt to acquiesce to their wish to disappear, there is a light. It is a small mote.

One point that violently refuses to be crushed or swallowed or even diminished. This – rather than your passions or your heart – takes over dominion now and guides by instincts long forgotten. To protect yourself and forget others. The other goes from being a distant, faraway and pain-causing "friend" to simply being a threat to your life that you fight with every fiber in you to keep at bay and in its place.

The one gets up and starts making plans for a future without the other. The tears are less as is the hatred, but there is a fire alight now and it will not be extinguished until the other ceases to exist.

The other notices a change, but knows not what. They ask why you are distant and what is wrong. Incredulous is the one; how do you trample upon my heart and then ask so foolish a question as why I withhold it? Why do you care? Or are you pretending this, too? Are you just trying to get close enough to me to hold my heart so you can make sure to finish the work you started? Why do you now pretend to care when you know you lie at the center of all of the pain and anguish internal I currently bear?

Whatever trust there is there is now less and rightly. It feels so strange; the one to whom you would have given your life now barely gets your eye contact.

So comes the morning and the one gets up and goes to do their things. Lives their life. Tries simply not to be overwhelmed; nevermind forgetting. That could never be. They simply want to not hurt. They fear they will forget how to love after this, but the feeling of having a direction and the drive to accomplish is a powerful contrast to the pale, grey lack of any desire to so much as breathe before.

Finally, says the one to the other: I loved you. You said you loved me, then changed your mind. You should have told me. You shouldn't have lied. You shouldn't have betrayed me by saying things you didn't mean. However, that is past and can never be changed. What has been and what now is is. Here is what is: our bond is broken by you and broken shall it remain until you repair it. It is not in me to wish you harm and I will not, but you will be without me. You don't need to care and, though it pains me, I don't need you to. Goodbye.

So walked away the one with a larger light, a hotter fire, and a burnished soul. What becomes of the other? Who knows? Maybe this time, they told the truth when they spoke of love to another. That is not for the one to know now. There is simply glorious life to be lived. This day. The next day. The day after.

And this precious one will live it. All of it.