fair

It's not fair, is it? The way people make one another feel, that is. It's just the way it is, and there's nothing we can do about it. And while it's not a problem when you're feeling good, or when someone causes you to feel good — because it's goodness, yeah? — that doesn't make it any more fair, does it? It doesn't. It really doesn't. Fairness is a tricky minx with a fur coat.

We allow others to use us because we so want to be useful, want to feel important, want to feel like we're part of something bigger than ourselves if only for a day. We use each other. Over an over.

The reason we're so concerned with fairness is because of the constant jilting that happens in each relationship, no matter where you are on the timeline. Every time you think you get somewhere something happens that causes you to go back or skip ahead. The Game of Life. Ugh.

Paloma Faith illustrates this feeling in her song "Agony." It reminds me of a post I wrote on MightNotBeTrue two years ago or so.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve"

Picture this: Blood rolling down the sides of a hand; it drips down splashing delicately onto the top of a foot; a heart pumps to the beat of a metronome. The cuff of your shirt sleeve is dyed a deep pinot noir. The room is silent, save for the pulsating beat of that metronome and the slow drip-drip-drip crashing to the floor. It's the sort of silence that causes you to hear everything. With each passing moment the risk of infection increases, so you can't wear it out for too long. You might die — so we don't do it. We don't risk our health in hopes of clinging tightly to our humanity. We want to last a bit longer. Don't worry that we might not be living at all. But we all die anyway, so what's the difference? The difference is all in how it happens. Most people don't want to die of a broken heart, dried out, raw from waiting outside too long. We don't wear our hearts on our sleeves because we can't.

Use me take me home and use me
Press your hands into my body
You'll be my sorrow
We both know it shows
Push me
Make me feel I'm weightless
Running
We will not escape this
Shake this
You'll be addicted
I'll be inflicted.

This is agony
But it's still a thrill for me
This could end in tragedy
Pour yourself all over
Oh, no time to waste
Lets fall from grace.

Save me
Save me with your kisses
Give me
The angels and their whispered wishes
I wont fall down
My soul is bound.

This is agony
But it's still a thrill for me
This could end in tragedy
Pour yourself all over
Oh, this is agony
But it's still a thrill for me
This could end in tragedy
Pour yourself all over
Oh, no time to waste
Lets fall from grace.

Everyone says you're bad for my head
But I'm in denial
One look at your face
I'm back in that place
I'm feeling the fire
This is agony, this is agony.

This is agony
But it's still a thrill for me
This could end in tragedy
Pour yourself all over
Oh, this is agony
But it's still a thrill for me
This could end in tragedy
Pour yourself all over
Oh, no time to waste
Let's fall from grace. 

The real hurt of it is, though, is that it always ends in such a way. The best thing you can hope to gain from pouring your whole world into another person is that they die after you do. It doesn't mean that you shouldn't do it, but it makes it clear how much putting your hope in someone else is such a leap. It's no wonder that so many chose not to.