Most days I do not know what I wish for most – that I never met you, or that I could steal my heart back from the icicles you call fingers. Your smile melted me into a pool of yes, despite my brain screaming no. For all the lies I have told myself, none have been bigger than the ones spouted in your arms. I climbed Jacob’s ladder to find the truth in your eyes, and I somehow found myself trapped inside the Tower of Babel. Where once eloquence was the honey of my lies and manipulations, you depleted me to a muttering mess of a woman who is barely sure the sky is truly blue. They say there are three great loves in your life, but you’ve contorted the very notion into a draught of pain and displeasure in a desert of despair. I don’t know who could follow you, yet I’ve wasted too many days chasing your 5:00 shadow.
There was a time that love came and went easily in my life. Like rains on a summer day, a constant warmth broken by the beauty of a storm or the fiery breath of passion. Now, I’ve become like you – a miserable moose in tundra of isolation. I’ve become a hermit, after you made me your fool. Surety used to be the norm, but now every moment echoes the haunt of “What if…” I hear your echoes on the clanging of my dying heart, as I swear on heaven and earth we were meant to be, if only….
Yet in all my questioning, in all my searching, I’ve never found the words to complete that sentence. If only, what – you had actually loved me the way I loved you? You had seen more in me then a wallet full of credit cards? The size of my heart beyond my tits? I don’t even know if you truly knew me, or just decided what role I fulfilled in your wardrobe of women. For all the words we shared, for all the moments that were ours, I don’t know who is real – my memory or your reality. In the silence of my tears, I have wondered if you knew this would happen all along. I wonder if you laugh at my words, or if you can even feel the ice you pumped into my veins. Do you even know that you numbed me to happy and flayed my heart from finding repose in the arms of anyone – myself included?
Yet it is my choice, as you would always say. You never asked me for anything. You never wanted anything. Amazing how much can be taken when nothing is wanted. Amazing how much blood can soak a carpet when a vein can be released from the cage called skin. Everything I asked you never gave – not even the peace of goodbye. Building me up on your ladder ever higher, just to watch me fall further. Now, for all the music you gave, you robbed me of the sounds of all but sadness. And the maniacal laughter of a woman who sliced her own heart out to feed a man who turned his nose up in disgust while asking for seconds.
And still, I remain a prisoner in the cage of your heart shaped box. They say Amaryllis killed herself for thirty nights for the man she loved. They say the sun dies so the moon may shine every night. I say you’ve killed me so many times, I don’t know whether to say thank you, I love you, or goodbye. It doesn’t matter anyway, as I’m talking to the ash of my memory, the dust covering my eyes, and the ghost that haunts the space where a heart once beat. You said unrequited love is torture; I say I don’t know the line between pleasure and pain anymore. The edges became blurred when I met you. The limits became mile markers as I keep climbing the ladder to try to see the blue in your eyes.
Where the songs used to lull me to sleep with rage filled screams of a pain foreshadowed, now you. Always you. Every song makes you dance in front of my eyes unbidden. Yet nothing is changed. The same 10 seconds in H. make me feel more free and alive as they did before you poisoned his poetry. You just helped me understand what Maynard meant when he said “Considerately killing me.” Do you even know what the 10 seconds are? Did you even know my favorite song? For someone who said they know everything there is to know about me; I don’t believe you knew me any more than I knew you. We both saved our finest masks for the darkness. I’ve always thought the most beautiful love songs are the ones that hurt to listen to. You just reminded me why.
Where once I did not feel alone in lyrics and song, now I weave my own tapestry of despair. They say if you want to be immortalized, break a poet’s heart. Thank you for being the thorn upon which I bleed upon these keys. Thank you for being the halo now turned noose. Thank you for being the muse of misery.