she once gave me a beautiful decorated board,
lined with painted roses and glitter,
and on this board she recited quotes of love.
one such quote:
"years of love have been forgot,
in the hatred of a minute" (e.a. poe)
and i now find this to be ironic.
i used to think our love was like poetry;
everlasting, beautiful, and unique.
but she threw everything we had away,
over one tiny error i had made.
one day, she did not message me.
so i did not bother to message her until she had already fallen asleep.
no response.
the next day was one that i slept through in its entirety,
thanks to a psychotic episode and raging insomnia,
so i once again did not message her until she had fallen asleep.
not once, in those two days, did she bother to message me.
but she placed the blame upon me.
suddenly, i became a punching bag for her insecurities,
grudges,
past pain,
and angst.
she was, and still is, a child.
i was accused of using her.
i was accused of ignoring her.
i was accused of not doing anything for her.
all of which are lies, all of which are just petty jabs at my self-esteem to make her feel better about herself.
and months of love were lost in but a moment of rage.
all thanks to her.
or, in part, to me not bothering to message first.
i hope she is happy now.
i did not shed a single tear,
did not lose one night of sleep,
and i did not even think for a moment that she was the victim.
she was once a victim,
but this time she wasn't,
at least that's how it feels.
i actually feel better without her, strangely enough.
i just wish she would have given my hoodie back first.
i suppose sweet iced tea never was quite my taste.
YOU ARE READING
everything changes (but we all stay the same)
Poésieif my life could be replayed, if i could share my struggles over the course of time, if i could create such a thing, an endless recording of my life; it would be over hours and hours of overthinking. - (trigger warning for frequent, graphic descr...
