it seems unclean to look at you so closely, today. the strict contours of your face, those which are no longer mine. they belong now only to your own skin. mine has detached from yours, in the physical sense, the sense that has brought down so many men to their knees. in the sense that i still have a home inside of you, we remain bound. my biggest regret is that we no longer have what we promised we'd keep forever, because i pushed you further out of me than your anchor inside my gut was willing to budge. and as you secretly have suggested, it is my fault.
the mistakes i have made are mine alone. at my feet, you were weak, yet i persisted in the false sense of power i held over you. this is the moment i bring myself back to every night; this vision of you, your anger so strong, pouring out of you and all over me.
i recall looking into you then, seeing what my own mouth had created, and through my soothing coos, i knew i would once more create this scene. your spine, cracked in two: I'M SO SORRY. do you trust me today?
i have been waiting for you, and here you finally are, too late. too late for me to unpack all of my baggage and move it back into you. can i decide on my own what to do? i cannot. the time i have spent waiting for you to come home has long passed, and i have changed myself to fit into what i wanted to become. how i wish you had been on time to stop me.
am i the only one who lied? do not forget what you chose over me, what, in one fit of rage, you chose because of me. in that statement, i saw what you were: me. in all of that white glory, buried to your throat, was it worth it? if you could do it one more time, would you rip out the stake that you drove between us? perhaps not.
in the end, i am afraid of you.
