Honest Confessions of Letting Go

Venom

You said I changed. You told me that you only missed the nice parts of me, but I am who I always was. I became who I needed to be to delay the pain of the blows you sent to my heart. I wanted to be nice. I really did. Not for her, not for you, but because I wanted you back.

My brother asked about you. Another shot. point blank range. He didn't seem to hate you the way my friends do. He adored you. Thought maybe one day you could teach him how to play soccer. He thought you'd stick up for him when I was being ridiculous. He thought maybe you could solve all of his big sister's problems.

He asked why I fell in love with you, if now you were in love with someone else. I said because you lied to me and like a fool I believed you. The things I didn't say were because you were selfish, because you hated me, you didn't care, you liked me on your arm, you knew you could. The words dripped with a venom I had not yet developed immunization for. It traveled into my blood stream and straight to my lungs, I gasped.

Animosity has never been my form of coping. Anger has never been one of my problems. The most furious I get is when my sadness decides to put on the cape of irritability and then I break. But I have never been angry. I was frustrated, isolated, confused and hurt. Maybe those together made me seem angry.

Maybe it was a slow working poison. I had decided that when your arms would slide around me that you had coyly injected me with something. Something that made me love you more, and something that made the pain hurt worse when it was over.

When I wake up in tears during the middle of the night I whisper that I still love you and the words drip like venom from a black cobra. Like dark tears. The sad part is I've said them to many times for them to kill me anymore.