Your Love Is A Contradiction
I want to write a long long letter to you. I’d write until my fingers start to rot. I’d write until I can’t keep my eyes open. I’d write about the times I’ve longed to sit beside you in silence, write about the times I wished you’d have a conversation with me. I’d write about the times I should have said something but couldn’t, or when I’d said something I’d regret. I’d write about the times I didn’t acknowledge your presence; when you stopped to talk with me but I kept walking. When you gave me a gift but I lost it. I would write about how you make me feel seen and how you make me feel dismissed. I would write about the time you hurt me so much I had to lay on the floor and punch my head to calm myself. About the time you made me feel so safe that I could fall asleep in a stranger’s car knowing that you were there. About the time I was so alone I couldn’t share my stories with anyone. Or about the time when I didn’t feel the need to share my context. I want to write the madness you evoke in me. The love you evoke in me. The love you’ve drained out from me. The fire you have extinguished. I’d write about the time when you put your arm around my shoulder and I felt safe. When you retracted your hand from my grasp. When you said something that I would never find myself saying. That you would never say to someone else. About the time you’d told me you’d leave me in the morning. For good. When you told me I was unbearable. When you weren’t honest with me. When you believed her over me. When you chose me over her. I would write about the times you gave me a bar of chocolate, a pack of biscuits, a journal with your odd writing scribbled all over the envelope. I love you. When you didn’t go to that restaurant because I wasn’t with you. When you left without me. When you pushed my hand away from your shoulder and when you placed yours on my thigh. I would tap keys on my laptop till my hands get blistered and my eyes start watering. I would write destruction and love and tragedy. Everything I owe you. About the apologies none of us would say. I would make the pages bleed and I will never stop.
