Is there a proper way to say no?
Some say yes, others say not at all. One may say to let them down easy, while another leaps into the idea of confronting them head on. Those who speak feather-light words that are meant to gently brush around the bush of acceptance and fate are in stark contrast to the one who's bush they set ablaze. From the tales of old classics that strive to drive the point home and come out forthright with the letters that were once tied on the edge of their tongue.
"No." Comes off far too harsh. Especially when landing on the ears of the person who has now gone deaf. Closing off their senses and blocking out the sounds of the voice they could only use to affirm their egos and cherish their sharp spines. Now bent out of shape since the voice that once said, "No, I don't mind," and, "Yes, you are correct," has since turned to the options of "Yes, I do mind. Because you refused to listen to me even after I sat down and talked with you and instead made things about yourself." "No, you're not correct. You never were. About the cheating and lying and begging and crying. It was not right, and it was not my fault." Even though their only response back now after pouring out your heart and revealing the vulnerability you had once locked away was, "I'm sorry you feel that way," or maybe something more dreadful along the lines of, "That never happened. You made that up. Quit being delusional."
I can't remember when my first heartbreak was, or if I even had one. Whether it was over a partner or a friend, perhaps that sadness I once felt was actually just a ruse to get me to convey the emotional response for loss. I also do well to remember that not everything is my fault. That friendship was bound to end eventually, once I realized you never valued my time. It was supposed to be a two-way street, yet the only sign I saw mentioned one. The nights spent toiling over how to say my first "no" to you. How to get over the constant fear of abandonment and overwrite that feeling with the one yelling, no, screaming at me to stop allowing myself to be stepped on. Like a beautiful red carpet meant to be walked over for those going to accept the award for "All-Time Best Gaslighter."
We got a long break from school too, which is when I took that time to grow. Realizing that the freshman year friendships were ones of the past, and that our original groups really weren't meant to last. It sounds like a sad cliché poem, you know the type. The ones they would ask us to write in 6th grade where we would try to sound as deep and emotional as possible, when in reality some of our only problems were what was in the school lunch or who's house we were going to play at after school. But we aren't in elementary anymore, no, those days are far behind now. I was told 19 looks good on me, but I can't help but wonder when I even became 19. It feels like only yesterday we got off the bus and said, "See you in two weeks." But walking across the stage with that paper in hand and cheers roaring from the crowd solidified the truth. The fact that now it was time to go forward into the "real world." However, I can't help but think for a moment too long and ask, "If this is the real world, then what was all of that I did prior?" A fake world, yes. One we created to build up our own character and create personalities that I'm sure we wouldn't grow to hate later.
So, once again the question arises, "Is there a proper way to say no?"
Saying no, not to all the hard work and sleepless nights and shallow tears and baseless fights. But to the ones who wasted my time, your time. Exhausted our brain without realizing and just hoping and praying just saying "Yes," would mean something. Until one day you wake up and look at your phone and see who stopped texting. Remembering that now we are even farther apart than before, so it should be easier to say no now that we can't even see each other. Tell myself no, because I don't have any reason to call or text you and have been hanging on to a fine thread of hope that maybe, if I had said no earlier things would have changed. But I'd be lying. You know it too, don't you? Just how much rejection hurts like a hail storm in the middle of what should have been a great early summer.
You wanted me to keep leaving you red roses, but I left you a bouquet of carnations. In that bright yellow you said looked so good on me in the middle of July. When I accepted your sweet nothings and lived for those empty words. Slowly realizing the reason they felt so hollow was because you couldn't bother to keep up the act of putting padding behind the words you were saying. Yet you now act surprised when I leave the carnations at your door on my own time. Though you should be grateful I did that much, because outside your room reeks of desperation and false promises. But I can't be bothered to keep waiting and standing by.
We aren't 13 anymore. And if you really wanted to, you would have tried.