"I think I might be a terrible person."
I could sense the brush leaving a thick coat of red paint on my canvas as it fell to the ground. The wet feeling of the paint jolted me back to reality. Those words should have held no significance for me. However, they sounded more like a warning than a confession, as if he was asking permission before allowing me to love him. At times, I wish I had believed him then.
I remember gently brushing the palm of his hand with mine, wanting him to know that I was there for him. "Why? I'm listening."
The more he spoke, the more it felt like a warning. His words seemed to contradict his initial lines, and he became increasingly defensive. Amidst his stories, he reassured me, stating that he wouldn't repeat the same mistakes he made with his past lovers. However, it failed to provide the reassurance I sought.
Day by day, he continued to disappoint me with his obliviousness to the impact of his actions, leaving lasting scars. It seemed as if he knew but lacked the respect to change for the better. In the relationship, I felt displaced, trapped, and apprehensive about interacting with others. Communicating with him felt like talking to a wall. I shouldn't have to feel this way.
It became increasingly evident that he didn't love me at all.
Having to face this harsh reality was a bitter pill I had to swallow. Each passing day reinforced this truth, making it even harder for me to cling to the hope that he might eventually realize the consequences of his behavior. I grew weary; no matter how much I expressed my feelings through words and actions, he remained illiterate to their significance. He showed no genuine concern. At least, he pretended to but, that made it worse.
I don't want to go back into that dark place where I would be crafting another gift for him while he's online playing a game on his laptop with his friends questioning if he would want to say a short line from a poem to me. Maybe I just wanted to hear him say "you're as beautiful as white tulips" to me, maybe just once in 3 months or so.
Nothing was new. It got worse, if I were to be honest.
"I think I might be.."
Sometimes I wish he never said those things to me 3 days before my birthday. Or even, I wish I never heard him at all.
"...a terrible person."
Would it be harsh of me to agree with what you said initially? Would you have learned your lesson if I had actually done just that?
"You are."
I bent down to pick up the paintbrush, but I froze midway as my vision began to blur. I was crying, yet unsure about what I felt. I felt miserable, and yet, I feel guilty about thinking,
Would I be a terrible person to wish that I never met you at all?
