ᵂᶤˡˡ ᵞᵒᵘ ˢᵗᶤˡˡ ᴸᵒᵛᵉ ᴹᵉˀ ⁻ ᴬ ᴼᶰᵉ⁻ˢʰᵒᵗ
Mar 25, 2017 14:06:27 GMT -5
Maplestone360, cσηsтεℓℓαтισηs, and 1 more like this
Post by ᴛᴜᴇsᴅᴀʏ on Mar 25, 2017 14:06:27 GMT -5
654 Words
I am not inclined to give. I was born to take. I was born to consume. Enough was denied to me that I chose to reclaim everything, even that which was not mine. A soul can only stand so much neglect before it spreads greedy claws toward the world. I am no different. I am no better.
So when I take your heart away, will you still love me?
I am not inclined to forgive. I bear the sins of others upon my shoulders, a broad banner, a heavy reminder. When they have wronged me, I do not forget. I do not forgive. I cannot. Too much has been thrust at me without recompense or remedy, and so I cry injustice, though it falls on deaf ears.
So when I cannot forget your choices, will you still love me?
I am not inclined to reminisce. There are wounds in this world that leave no visible scar, instead marring the heart. When they grow too great in number, reason falls to fallacy of emotion. I have some of these scars. They are not many, but they are deep. Many are from my choices. Many make my choices. I never thought I'd be ruled by anything but my head, but those days are mere memory.
So when I cannot share my heart, will you still love me?
I am not inclined to divide the whole. The world has seen fit to take from me nothing or everything, depending on the day, depending on the night, depending on its fickle moods. When I act, I act in full. I speak in full. To hold back is to be as inconstant as the cruel world around us, and I will not be what the world wants.
So when I tell harsh truths, will you still love me?
You will.
You always have.
When I took your heart, you made no move to take it back. The world took plenty more from you and allowed me to finish its work; you still loved me.
When I turned your decisions against you, you did not deny your faults. They fell from your shoulders as fast as they fell from my tongue, shed like rainwater from the leaf. I named you the sinner instead of myself; you still loved me.
When I caged my bitter heart behind bitter claws, you did not pry it away. The wounds festered, and you offered ease. I refused, on account of letting the wounds sting, letting them hurt, letting them rule. I became the ugliest wound I carried; you still loved me.
When I threw every fact about you, about I, about us into the dry red dirt, you picked them all up. Not one was left behind. Not one was thrown back. I listed every fault in the divide between us; you still loved me.
So there it is.
You loved me then, against better judgment.
You love me now, against all odds.
But will you still love me, against the end?
You are constant. You are steady, a lattice of faith and loss the core of your bones. You are a force the universe has not learned how to eliminate. Strength untold, loyalty bold, heart of gold.
I am unreliable. I am one part storm and one part blaze, built on blinding power followed by decline. I am the consumer who is very nearly consumed. The rash, the brash, deserving of last.
If anything, I am your opposite, your antithesis, your undoing. There are things in this world that deserve your devotion, things that are not rage and terror and animosity of the highest degree, things that are not me. I am avarice, I am hunger, I am loathing, lust, laxity.
I am sorry.
But things will be better, because very soon, I will also be nothing.
If I am nothing, will you still love me?
Because I love you.
I always have.
