Blackseraphine

I missed him. Suddenly at 3am, I missed him.

My sister showed me a video of a podcast host reading a message from a woman terminally ill with cancer. She had months to live. But she won't tell her husband or her kids so they could go through their grand, multi-week European vacation without worry.

And I thought of him. And I thought if either of us did this, would we be mad at the other? And I thought about me being angry. Am I wasting time by being angry? 

But then it made me angrier. Because that meant I have to suck up every hurt feeling. That meant I have to bite my tongue and turn a blind eye to everything I see is wrong. So now it feels like a burden. A burden that I am forced to bear alone.

The more I thought of it, the angrier I became.

Because why? Why did I have to be okay with this? Even if it felt wrong? Why?

So I don't ruin the mood? So I don't make it awkward? So I won't be labeled as the weird person trying to 'stop' others from 'having fun.'

So I have to smile and pretend I'm okay with it even though it didn't sit right with me. So I won't be the "bad" person.

It felt like a subjugation of self. A suppression.

And you know what? 

I remember the look on his face as he said it. He knew it was bad but he did it anyway. 

I love him. But I'm not okay with it.