Don’t interrupt me and let me finish what I have to tell you and I’m saying it not because I’m afraid of you or of what you might do to me, again, but especially because it’s my time to speak before it’s too late. You were my only desire for so long and you’ve belonged to me for so long that I might have forgotten what it means to be alone. For so long, I’ve been trying to find a way to punish you, while at the same time I wish I had just forgiven you but it is impossible, since your love, for so long, is entangled into my whole being in a way I can’t separate it from myself, even in your absence, and all I dream of is my own blurry memories of a bunch of images of you in my evasive head or a sensation of pain but it all changed that night, when it all ended in a place in time, impossible to reach, when I was about to pay for all our mistakes, when I was the most ready to be done with this absurd destiny, something that nobody understood and I didn’t either.
I was so ignorant, so naïve, that it didn’t even matter if I tried to be like you - you the murderer of me-- and to die in this bizarre kind of justice and you never told me why you killed me and it just hurts since I was told that, anyway, we all are victims, and that we all could turn into someone we weren’t, (someone innocent), so you could deserve your destiny, but instead I just got scared of all this power and you took all the credit for my life, as if you weren’t the same murderer anymore. Now, I am damaged beyond repair and you have no right to claim my life and you have no idea how badly you still hurt me and you have no idea for how long I played this same scene in my imagination and for how long I looked for the right words to tell you, the words that were only meant to be heard by you, the words that weren’t words anymore but each letter a sharp knife stabbing your soul (and mine too)…and yet I loved you.
It is a silent love, a silent longing, deepening every day, every night.
Every night, you look at me and I remain silent, fighting against this urge to runaway and to save my life. Every night I look at you, betraying you by letting you kill me with remorse, without even thinking that maybe I too was part of this whole murder plot, that I too was pushing you off that edge, that maybe I have no right to judge you since, after all, I am an accomplice in this final act.
Every night, we look at each other, murdering a bit of flesh and not the immensity of our soul…something that (haha, this is so funny) is already dead.