I’m mad at myself for thinking only of myself. Thinking of all the times I lay in bed watching the sun push itself through the blinds, though I’d wish the pain would drown me and the anxiety attacks would stop my bleeding heart from pumping the pain of memories to and back.
Yes, you did things to me first and I did things to you second and you did things to me third, and last but not least we did things no one ever forgives nor deserves. But that didn’t stop me.
I broke you, I know, I finally did exactly what you did to me. And for a split second, for one tiny tick of time, I felt good that I had finally gotten you back. But what a twist in words is that.
The clock moved on and your face said it all. You stood there while you crumbled inside. The silent roar of a shattering soul is one you never forget and now there’s no time left for us to come back from those events.
I see you now, laying on the bed wishing you were dead instead. I know how you feel, but now worse than that, I caused you to feel like that. There’s a shame I feel in my heart when I lay next to you and you turn your back. I used to do that.
Now I lay looking up at the ceiling, wishing I could hold you and ask for forgiveness. But how can I ask, when I never gave an ounce of that.
I’m sad I hurt you. You, were working so hard to make peace of the past, to move past the times we dug knives at our backs. How immature of me to only think of the scars and not the healing that was going on at last.
I’m sad I can’t hold you. I’m sad I can’t feel you in my arms with the warmth we once had. I’m sad our kisses are dry chapped lips barely touching skin to skin because it’s been so long since we’ve made out with pure longing and love and lust for each other. I’m sad I’ve broken us up, torn us so far apart, we’re blinded by the pain wondering why we were ever one.
I’m sad most of all, that Monday will come again and another week will be filled with the routines and morning and afternoon trips. And dinner will be made with love I’ll say, but that isn’t really true, it’s all fake. And I’m sad that when the weekend comes back, one of us or both of us, will be in different parts of the house mending our broken hearts, wishing for one another, but too timid to take the steps necessary to build ourselves up from that.
Can this be a step? Can you please accept? How sorry I am. Hurting you has doubled my pain and cut my heart in halves. Living parallel lives in the same house is not what I imagined our lives were going to be and for that I’m so sad.