We were young. I place you first, usually, because it is easier
somehow. I hurt you, as I was going to-- what did you expect? I'd been
coddled for so long, I didn't understand what it was like to give. I
didn't have the sense to end things more amicably, and you were someone I
could afford to lose at the time.
You were a mistake. It should not have happened.
How
did we end up this way? It's been nearly a decade and I'm still not
sure what happened, exactly. I want to say I didn't know any better but
that's a lie. I let myself be intoxicated and I've never fully shaken it
off. Remember when you cried? I doubt even you know if that was
genuine. That is my last memory of you, and it still makes me uneasy.
You didn't know what to do with me. I thought I wanted to be sensible like you, and what a damn stupid idea that was. I wasted my youth and don't tell me otherwise; nigh on my early twenties and frumpy. Gods I still get a blinding anger when I think about you.
We
needed each other; I was competent enough to ride it out for that short
time. I wish you well and only think of you with fondness.
I
broke you because my greatest sin is anger. I broke you because I
couldn't have you-- I didn't care (and still don't) that you were too
naive and ignorant to even deal with yourself. You try screaming at a
brick wall for a month and see what it does for you. There's a fine,
fine line and I tore you apart in the end. I enjoyed it.
You
were the drip antibiotics to my worst infection. I knew I had to leave
the hospital one day-- you were a safe house, not a destination.
And
now here I am, safe house still in sight at my six. You are... strange.
You cast familiar shadows and yet at the same time you are something
else. You have his brilliance, his depth for forgiveness, his wisdom,
his ambition and drive. I am not whole and you don't mind, because
neither are you. There is nothing to sweep under the carpet. You try to
teach me that people do deserve good things in life-- I think I am
beginning to understand.
