Thoughts #14
I write this as plainly as I’m able to. The unruly cursive I chose to depict such a puzzling circumstance creates a symbol of pain and mess of what the both of us have become. A profound statement indeed. My thoughts run wildly, my memories are stained with the ink splatters along the pages I’ve covered in the purest form of innocence. How could he have done this? What was to gain out of the quickest torment ever committed? The sacrificial act that has my eyes welling with tears. My soul screaming in the late nights where silence holds no comfort. My constant wallowing has driven me mad. My life unwound from the spool of twine that held the two of us together. Bound by similar wounds and matching scars. Forced to wait in agonizing and deafening patience. He carried my hope like a dirty coin found in the mud. I beared the weight of every sorrow, every threat that dared strike his very being. And soon enough I fell out of the hole in his pocket and left to rust in the rain that showered me in burning, never ending grief I cannot fathom myself. How humorous I was so simply deemed a gossip. My squabbling never lowered to whispers. And thus, I was punished so cruelly I’m left to up the disaster alone. And he’ll hold his pride tightly. Clinging onto the self righteous idea that giving me away, throwing me out like some useless fragment of junk was the correct thing to do.
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I am but a slumped down individual. A woman given the world and watched in horror as it burned to ash in front of her own eyes.
I relented so easily, hoping he’d save me.
But that was never going to happen, was it?
