Dishonesty can be nothing but blood curdling silence. It’s as simple as an omission of truth, or blatant cover-up of reality. It is a bandage over a bullet hole that peels off your kneecaps when the blood soaks through them. Betrayal goes past questioning how much someone loves you… It answers the question. But then again, think about the amount of questions that arise after.
Why are you lying to me? Can’t you just be honest?
In what realm would reducing me to a simple scratch make it better? I am a gash. I am a thick and deep scar which has been tender for years and years. I do not wish to heal. I want you to keep bleeding. I hope that the knife you plunged into my spine paralyzes me for your own sake, because if it doesn’t, I’d chase you across the ends of the earth until you beg me to stop.
Why can’t you look me in the eyes? Why can’t you stare at me and then speak words with meaning? How am I important? How do I have value in your life if you refuse to show me off as part of it?
I cannot hate you—even if I wanted to— and maybe that’s my downfall. Because you betrayed me, and I still adored you. And we both know you’d let me fall between the cracks and save anyone else if it came down to it.
I’ll leave you with this. I hope that when you think of me, your back aches. I hope the scar I should’ve left with a scythe in your back appears when you miss me. I hope your sheets are bloody with your guilt. I hope that losing me hurts like a death. I hope that seeing me smile and love and laugh makes you so jealous you turn green— like rotted fruit and flesh.
I hope that you know that my revenge on you that night was my silence. The uncomfortable eye contact. Holding your hand and wishing you were different. I hope you know that I cried while hugging you because I wanted so much more than the nothingness you were giving me. I cried for myself.
I hope you know I’ll never regret letting you in like I did, but I do regret watching you take advantage of it. I regret not resenting you more prior so you’d think before realizing what was at stake. I hope you know that I questioned keeping you around. I hope you know that I think the greatest acts of love are the ones which hurt the most. I hope you know I was willing to let you go.
I hope cities are tainted. I hope you can’t go back to them. I hope you can’t look at a royal blue sports car without imagining my hands on the steering wheel, and my caramelized thighs pressed into the seat. I hope you see fluffy red dogs and that you can’t help but see mine. I hope you never take a tequila shot without thinking of me. I hope that movie comes on and you remember me and regret you. I hope when you see pink colored anything you think about what could’ve been and wince.
I hope when you think of me, it feels like drowning. I hope when you see me, it feels like burning. I hope when someone says my name around you, it feels like freezing. I hope my name alone invokes a visceral reaction out of you– and I hope you reach out just so I can deny you with rampant reluctance.
Because I’ll think of you too.
But it won’t hurt. It’ll pass.
The difference is simple.
You’ll come up as an afterthought.
But I will haunt you.
Written in a rage. March 29 2022.