Romance 10
What am I supposed to say? I expected things to be different? I expected a panacea, and what I've swallowed is nothing more than aspirin with a kiss? Is it my fault? Yours? Does it matter? Maybe, for your sake. Blame whomever you want. It's not as if I planned this. It's not as if I thought to myself, two years ago, "You know what? Today, I'm going to choose some wonderful person, raise them into the sky, and then pull the magic carpet out from under them, watching as they smash to tears before my arid eyes." It's not as if this doesn't hurt me, too.
But I can't do this. I can't let "love" be my lie. There are so many four-lettered-words I can spew forth, each more wretched, each more vitriolic than the last, but if I let that one word breach my lips in feigned sincerity one more time, it will take my soul with it and burst upon my breath.
It's not about regret. It's not like you weren't, like you aren't worth it. God, if it was my head, not my heart, that urged my actions, I would hold these words within almost as tight as I would hold you to my breast. But if I were to say I loved you, it would be a lie. And though I hate to stab you through the chest, you're better than more daggers in the back.
So there it is. Rage, scream, cry, hate, anything to save yourself. I wish I could say I deserved it, but that would be saying my heart is of my own volition, and God only knows how I hate to tear you into shreds with every aching syllable. But although the truth costs so very much, I'm done paying for my lies. I'm sorry, I really am. If it helps to believe it, do because it's as true any word I've said. If it helps to deny it, well, I give the tool, but it is yours to wield.
I wish I could tell you why. But perhaps I don't even want to know myself. And I know that might hurt worst of all, but what are a few more drops in a sea of blood? I wish I could give you more, but I think by now my words have become an unwelcome charity. Again, I'm sorry. I hope, someday, you'll forgive me.
In peace and sorrow,
__________
But I can't do this. I can't let "love" be my lie. There are so many four-lettered-words I can spew forth, each more wretched, each more vitriolic than the last, but if I let that one word breach my lips in feigned sincerity one more time, it will take my soul with it and burst upon my breath.
It's not about regret. It's not like you weren't, like you aren't worth it. God, if it was my head, not my heart, that urged my actions, I would hold these words within almost as tight as I would hold you to my breast. But if I were to say I loved you, it would be a lie. And though I hate to stab you through the chest, you're better than more daggers in the back.
So there it is. Rage, scream, cry, hate, anything to save yourself. I wish I could say I deserved it, but that would be saying my heart is of my own volition, and God only knows how I hate to tear you into shreds with every aching syllable. But although the truth costs so very much, I'm done paying for my lies. I'm sorry, I really am. If it helps to believe it, do because it's as true any word I've said. If it helps to deny it, well, I give the tool, but it is yours to wield.
I wish I could tell you why. But perhaps I don't even want to know myself. And I know that might hurt worst of all, but what are a few more drops in a sea of blood? I wish I could give you more, but I think by now my words have become an unwelcome charity. Again, I'm sorry. I hope, someday, you'll forgive me.
In peace and sorrow,
__________
posted by Ophelia at 12:47 AM
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