Sometimes I lie awake and wonder
Does staring into the veins on my wrist for longer make my fear of them any less real? Any less potent and visceral? Does the disgust and horror of it dwindle in time, or does venephobia sit in ever-stagnation, forever a curse and a frustration?
You said you had a right to be angry
But I feel like I do too.
I understand your side. My shortcomings. The things I have done that cannot be erased. The devastation in my impact on the Earth and the tangled thread that lay at your feet.
But why did you stomp on it?
I offered peace.
I offered kindness. Patience. I offered solutions and accountability. The acceptance of my mistakes. I did all that I could do.
It's not the departure that aches me. It's the way lightning split the trunk.
I really thought you were different.
I wish I had not been vulnerable with you.
You threw everything right back in my face and told me I was a burden, as if I had never cared about you in return.
I thought you were different.
Maybe you were just a different kind of different.
