Note: This is an urban inanimism on the emotion of disappointment. 🙂
This world is an oyster in my aloneness. The crushing waves may try to penetrate, but I refuse, all edges tightly clamped and warding out unwanted elements. As a publicly lauded piece of jewelry, you might think you already know everything about me. You might think that the shiny exteriors are all there is to it. Sure, it looks good on a friend’s arm, maybe in your opinion I am some eye candy for you to while away the time with on an otherwise unescorted event. I am no member of vanity fair, although I tend to exude that impression with my smoke and mirrors. I have no beauty secrets. I just have myself, and my shell when strings are not being pulled to tie me to another individual’s whimsical fashion and desires.
You think you already know me from what you have seen on the display? You are so, so wrong, for there is a depth in the bottom of the ocean of these appearances that you need to transcend before you can truly say that you know me. And if you think we are getting close, think again. We are not. Although for a few days I considered trusting you considerably enough, later on I have firmly decided not to let you come any nearer. For a few days, you have gained my confidence. But now, you cannot fool me any longer.
You feel offended, miffed, and betrayed that I kept my distance all of a sudden, you ocean irritant, oh so necessary to help the oyster make a pearl out of me. You were right, I dropped you in mid-air because I sadly found that you are not worthy to be trusted. Your favors were ill-intended, with an invisible string attached to it, ever ready to prey on me and snap me out of my peaceful reverie.
It seems, you do not know yourself too well. You do not know the harm you to do to precious pearls with your unruly way you treat them. You think you are nice. But in reality, you are not. I may not be much in size, but I see things more clearly in the crystal clear waters that wash away your shady intentions. If you can only take time to see your reflection in the water, you will know why I am so disgusted with you, that I cannot even civilly hide it.
Much as I despise the disappointment you have caused, irritants like you are what makes pearls the pearls that they are today. You are not unique. There is so much of you in this world that it actually makes all the numerous silt in the ocean shy away in embarrassment.
I am one of the few who see through all your exterior gestures. It is sad to find that you are one of those earthly presences who hide their deadly daggers in the cloak of goodness. I wish you were more real.
You hit on all pearls like you do basketballs in an arcade. You hope that after wooing all these pearls, one of them will decide to run to your court. The world’s best pearls are meant to be treasured, not crudely lumped together like some form of ornaments for your collection.
My shell is a protective layer that can shut you out anytime, no matter how close you are to getting me. I can let you in one day, and clip your fingers out the next. But I only do that to the people I disgustingly discover to be unworthy of the trust I give them. Most people who get to stay in the oyster zone is embraced for life with a fierce military-like loyalty.
My boundaries are there for a good reason. It refuses to tolerate the slightest bit of taking advantage, explicitly or implicitly. It signals trouble from afar, and does not let the most emotionally harassing ones linger in. Your ostentatious kind gestures ceased to hide the ill intentions you cannot even admit to yourself. No hand washing will take that away unless you take a good look at yourself and actually admit it…
I was born, reared and forced to live a life of pressure from all sides. I already know unnecessary trouble when it rears its ugly head somewhere in my crusty and waterproof fence. I have learned most things the hard way, and I will not let you make me uncomfortable in this oyster of my choosing just because you want me to punish for not dancing to your tune.
If I need to stay 100 feet below the ocean forever just to wait for the diver who will go through hell or high water just to unearth me for the real me, I will do it.
And if I perish for believing that I totally deserve the best and not some artificially squandered show of emotion, then let me perish in that oblivion than have to bear each day putting up with the likes of you.
I am solitary, not desperate. Not like you.
And until you have learned to stop being like that, the shell is clamped shut. I shall endure all external pressures you will place on me while I am here. But you will never get to me.
This world is an oyster in my aloneness. An aloneness that has been firmly chosen in favor for the fake and artifical offerings of an unthinkable you.