Stories, Poems, and Dreams

My Revenge (Unsent Letters #4)

Dove,

I burned when you left me.

There really isn't a much better descriptor for the pain I was feeling. I can still distinctly recall it, as easily as I could point to a scar on my body.

What I had thought was hope showed its true roots in denial.

And though you didn't try to, you hurt me. You broke me.

I burned when you left me.

For a while, there was only ash.

There was nothing for me to do but sit, and try to heal, and try not to be angry with you.

Oh, but I was. Ashes smoldered with fury's embers, though I denied it for as long as I could. And when I couldn't anymore, vengeance and protectiveness blazed loud enough that I could finally hear it.

I was scared of that anger. Now I'm not.

For a while, there was only ash.

The wind tried to sweep me away.

The night you looked at me like a stranger was the night a gust nearly took me.

I was knocked off balance, dispersing before your eyes into a swirling vortex, and you didn't notice. You didn't care.

You turned your back on me, as if to let me dissolve.

The wind tried to sweep me away.

I had to realize I was alone.

When you left, two others left with you. My oldest friend, now yours, and a musical soul I knew well. Part of me wonders what the true story is - did they leave me, or did they stay with you?

Even though I waited, even though I extended my hands again and again, you're not coming back.

Good riddance.

I had to realize I was alone.

I burned when you left me.

You tried to put it out, but the water was gasoline.

For a while there was only ash.

Was I lying in wait, or too paralyzed to move?

The wind tried to sweep me away.

You used to feel like a gentle breeze, but your kindness has ended.

I had to realize I was alone.

Finally, truly, painfully alone.

But in the dark, you can see the stars.

In the dark, the moon rises. As she did, I began to speak to her again, and she welcomed me home.

In the dark, I found again my love for the fresh snow that coats the branches of trees.

In the dark, I wandered a city full of memories and let the pain consume me, until I learned how to not let it do so.

In the dark, I met up with some old friends. Spellcasters, who light up my life with a flick of their wrists. Sorcerers, who bore some of my weight without even realizing it, simply by showing me that I did not have to carry it at all, much less carry it alone.

And there,
In the dark,
Was her spark.

The one you left was he.

Now, they will sometimes be she.

The one you left busied his hands and mind with you alone.

Now, she can finally complete her work.

The one you left did nothing without you for fun.

Now, she makes potions and drinks to try with her friends.

The one you left did nothing for himself.

Now, she buys herself jewelry and tea because she likes it, and no one else has to.

The one you left you stare at like a stranger, though you used to know every inch of his body, every thought in his head, every instinct in his soul.

Well, you get your wish. She has become a stranger to you. She is no longer the one you fell in and out of love with.

The one you left has cleaned himself of you, and thus, is no more.

Hail, the Age of Miquella.