There are certain songs out there that will make me cry every time, like "Puff the Magic Dragon" and Don Henley's "The End of the Innocence." But the one that gets to me like no other is Rascal Flatts's "What Hurts the Most."
I don't even like this song. I don't even like Rascal Flatts. But for some ungodly reason the words "having so much to say / and watching you walk away" get me every time. I tried to explain this to my dad over Christmas break and couldn't even talk about it without tearing up.
I like being heard. I like to listen. I am a person that thrives on conversation and story-telling. I detest being interrupted or feeling silenced or being cut off when I feel like my point has n't quite been made. I hate feeling like I'm talking into a room full of bricks, when it's so obvious no one is listening. I hate feeling like my stories aren't interesting or aren't coming across the way I'd planned. If I'm a having a conversation with a face as blank as a computer screen, I'm probably irritated.
I won't rant about how in "this Internet Age," conversation is a lost and dying art, but it is one that I believe I am exceptionally good at. I am genuinely interested and expect my conversational partner to be the same. Sure, I am even occasionally long-winded, especially if it is something I feel passionate about. But I am also fairly reserved, and somewhat picky about with whom I choose to converse.
More than being heard, I like planning conversations. I walk around my house on a daily basis, talking to myself, pre-planning conversations I intend to have later, engaging in imaginary conversations I will probably never have, and reliving (and occasionally editing) conversations I've previously had. It's therapeutic. I'm not what some would call "witty." Partially in order to make up for being a little slow on the spot, partially because it's a type of therapy for me, when I'm not engaged in actual conversation, I'm more than likely thinking about it.
We have all been in a position where we have had something to say to someone who didn't want to (or couldn't) hear it. Maybe it's a friendship gone awry. Maybe it's the person you just broke up with. Maybe you just missed out on saying goodbye. But the internal struggle with the words you will probably never get to say out loud to that person, the message that you want to convey, that last conversation, is always a killer.
I would urge you to have the conversation anyway, but sometimes that's just not an option. Sometimes you are a second too late in taking that last opportunity to explain yourself.
I handle it by walking around my apartment and having the conversation with myself. I feel it relieves some of the tension in my brain.
I have been carrying around this one particular "last conversation" inside me for about three weeks now, and I have decided that it's probably time to put it to rest. I have been planning what I would say, if the conversation ever came to pass. I have been rehearsing. And it's highly unlikely that I will get the chance to redeem myself here.
We don't always get to choose how we end a conversation. Sometimes, we just have to choke down the words, swallow our pride, and let it go. It's not easy. Giving up the "last word" stings a little. I have so much to say, but I'm closing the door on this conversation for good, and that really is what hurts the most.
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