I am curious why she takes him back. I have felt her loneliness. Felt it deeper. Felt it stronger. I have owned it. Embraced it. She sings “Good Morning, Heartbreak” searching for attention. Hoping that we will console her. That we will look at him with disdain, and assign him 100% of the blame for her misery. Until…
The moment, at her whim, that she decides to subject herself to her inability to be alone for more than a week. To bludgeon herself with his disregard for her scars. She is a masochist of the worst kind. She refuses to actually BE the phoenix she calls herself. Rather, she bathes in the ashes that are her heart on fire. He sets it ablaze with leftover embers from their last encounter. She holds her head high walking into the burning building of her affinity for our attention, for his attention, for anyone’s attention. She thinks she is our hero.
I look upon her not with pity, but with impatience. She is well aware of the tools she is armed with, yet she chooses only to intermittently use them. I try to engage her with an absence of judgement when she brings her drama into the enclave of my peace. I do not have to endure this. You do not have to endure this.
If you choose to stay, do not ask for my acceptance of you or he. Being a glutton for pain is not the same as being brave. And you are not our hero.
-Dom Jones, 12/19/11
