You Are My Weakness

Weakness is a horrible feeling. It makes you insecure. Doubtful. Never fully trusting anyone. It brings grown men to tears.

No. I don't understand that phrase. Bringing men to tears is not weakness, is it? Or is it simply the thought of strong men crying that makes them weak? Or does it take a strong man to cry or not cry?

Weakness is my enemy, forever fighting it. I was brought up to believe that weakness was the absolute enemy, that any signs of weakness is horrid and deadly. Is that true? That weakness is the absolute enemy? Or is some weakness okay to show?

People wonder why I do not show weakness. It is simple. That is part of my nature. To never give up. Always move foreward. To keep fighting.

Perhaps that is why I feel like dying.

This once insignifigant little reporter girl found my weakness and made me announce it loudly. Love, the ultimate weakness.

People say it makes you stronger. Fools. It broke me down.

People say it brings you together. Idiots. It tore me apart.

People says its the best feeling in the world. Liars. It made me die inside.

But I silently wonder if I did not bring that upon myself.

I pushed her away, did I not? But I did that to protect her.

I screamed and insulted her, yes? But that was only to mask my true feelings.

I told her I never needed her, I did. But that was the biggest lie.

Then, to feel the pain of thinking she was gone forever, never able to ask her forgiveness, was unbareable. To have the horrid hot liquid spill from my eyes, to feel unsecure, to think that the only thing that had been truly close to me had gone, shown the truth.

She was my stone, to keep me strong. But she was also my weakness.

I held onto her glasses, to fight for her. That made me strong, to hide my weakness. That is, until she came 'round again, and tore me to shreds.

She showed me that no matter how hard I tried to fight, no matter how thick I made my walls, no matter how strong my fascade was, she would always know my weakness. To feel powerless. To be a love-sick man who had a choice to die or to let her die. Perhaps I did not know at the time how much she meant to me. That is, until the pillar of fire, supposed to be directed at both of us, came only searching for her. Her scream as it met with her, as she flew back, her name screeching from my lips, made me realize that this was yet another weakness.


I remember running to her, telling her to hold on. For me! How selfish I am, to want her to be with me, no matter her pain. Her weakness. Which was me.

Then she said the words that made me the weakest in my entire life.

"I love you, Jack."

Then she disappeared into nothing, those violent Gods ripping her away from me. My rock. My reporter girl. My love. My Carly. Gone.

Now, I did not understand how much she was to me until that moment. To have all of my securities ripped from under me to leave me there writhing in my self pity. My anger. My rage. My weakness. For that all to come into view at that moment was unbearable, and the thing in my chest, which she had warmed, broke in two, leaving me clutching to my chest in pain.

But that made me all the more determined to get all of my securities back. To fight for them. To win them back! And I did.

But at a price.

She didn't remember.

Why did that trouble me so? It was good, yes? Easier to not have her remember? Making me stronger, to not rely on her as much? Or did it make it worse? To have these feelings and to never disclose them? Its good, I tell myself. Or, at least, I try and tell myself as I am awake in sleepless nights, the pain still in my heart, the weakness still burning deep within me. Maybe some day I shall tell her. When I am stronger. To tell her everything I am too weak to say.

I love you, Carly. You are my strength. But you are also my weakness.