How do you let go of someone you once loved? Someone you thought was your person, always would be and always was. Perhaps you still love them, it’s hard to define. Can you really love someone, masking your dread with wine? How do people change so much over a short course of time? And the longer you tolerate it, the slower the clock chimes. They begin to lose respect only after they’ve won your trust. Was it all fuelled by juvenile lust?
The undefined roles of intertwined souls, burns your lungs all the way from their bowl. The effort, the amount of time wasted in pain. The fights, the lonely hour-long walks in the rain. The disagreements, drunk, left alone at the bar. The insecurity, the sulking in a stranger’s car. The love, or your addiction to the abuse.
Perhaps it was all a ruse.
Reaching home to an empty bed and messed up sheets. Delirious, the floor calls to you, and begs you to sleep. Waking up to the same dark, empty room. No one knows nor cares what they’ve done to you. You’ve kept it to yourself for so long, you feel embarrassed. “Why do you put up with this shit?” but no one answers. In your fear of being alone, you reach out to them. You apologise, and the cycle starts again. You can’t break out when fear holds you back. You begin to prepare an attack.
Rise, fall, rise again. You’re willing to love, but you can’t keep pretending. And though this ‘cul-de-sac’ is a two-way street, you limp across alone, broken and beat. You’ve never known a love that matches your own, as you look back at the empty call logs on your phone.
You want someone to love you, someone to give it all. Someone to hold you, but not against the wall. Someone on this unsteady ship to keep you on deck, but not necessarily with their hands around your neck. Someone who knows the signals, when to stop, when to go. Because it’s not really abuse if you don’t say ‘no’. Someone to catch you when you’re about to fall. Who’ll let you learn to fly, training wings and all. Who understands your chaos, but orders it anyway. Straight off the menu, a la carte, not buffet.
You are not one to be defeated, nor one to be broken. Not one to be swayed by a bag of their love’s tokens. You want them to care for you, understand how you feel. Not just feign love between the sheets and not at meals. Having their tongue explore your mouth, your inability to speak. Not once, not twice, but three times this week. Despite your protests, they don’t seem to listen. The skin along your left cheek begins to glisten.
They used to take your breath away, but now they leave you breathless – choking on your tears, damaged and defenceless. You pick yourself up off the cold, hard floor. Dust yourself off and lock the door. You shower, change, get ready for bed. Tuck yourself in, rest your head. You close your eyes and imagine a life without them. No more crying alone at 3am. The lights go out, you’ve burnt out the fuses. No amount of love or wine can mask these bruises.
Atomic Oblivion 