She was poison. I know that. She made me want to die slowly, inside ripping towards the outside. But she was beautiful like the most amazing poisons tend to be. Her appearance drew eyes but I mean more. Her laugh. Her smile. the way she sucked her lips together when thinking. Her voice. The pretend words she allowed to comfort me. I no way was this a romance but Im beginning to think the difference isn’t that vast. For the pain described in connection to broken hearts is the same here.
I hate her. Because I love her still.
So much is left unanswered. I wonder if she thinks of me at all. I wonder if I was a burden to her. Did she carry my weight around? was she relieved when I gave her the chance to leave? She’s poison to herself as well. her mind cripples her. forcing her to rethink toxic thoughts. She views herself as an item and if that were true I believe the object would be broken too.
She had this bright red hair. This trust in my words. This ability to calm my beating heart. she gave me a home to wake in and to return to at night. But she had the power to take, make, or use the home to her advantage. I know she was terrible. I know she made me feel pain. I know she didn’t think about me as she should have. But, I miss her all the same.