Chutes and Ladders: Vol. 1

A Soft Rage

As the familiar fabric of my handmade quilt lies patiently across my folded legs, I can't help but think of when I loved you. When a single song warmed me better than I imagined your arms could. The weeks drug on; each leaf slowly drifting downwards, carried only by the chilling wind. The days grew colder yet my chest grew warmer. Spoken word and Elton John was my every night. Every slightly romantic happening made my imagination flutter. My mind instantly placed you where romantic movie gestures were. I even wrote a story about our supposed future. But you hurt me. And not in the way one might think or assume. I knew you didn't love me. Even when we first shared earphones and even when you told me about your dreams I knew you didn't love me, but our friendship was as good as ever. The absence of love wasn't how you hurt me. You hurt me when you left without saying goodbye. When a text message was too difficult, too intrusive, too anything; my mind saw things it didn't want to see. In outings, as I would gaze across to you and think about how great you were; I had you on a pedestal. When you were torn between a safe life and a happy life, I was there. Even when you told me you would be fine, I could hear your own self doubt in your voice and I was there. I guess the only reason I've crafted these words yet again, is because the lenses through which I viewed you were shattered; no amount of cigarettes could numb what I felt. I had always tried to think the best of you, giving you the benefit of the doubt. But my defenses have run short.