You came after me, heart open, thoughts rolling, swimming in an ideology of love that you said you once had. I had on then a shield, afraid to let anyone penetrate. I stood tall, dark, proud and strong, and you were quiet, a poetic man whose voice never rang heavy. I found it curious the way you stared at me. It was near-dusk, on a half spring winter, late afternoon when you passed me by. I remembered the familiarity of your golden eyes. They were aloof, yet clouded with a sadness I thought I could feel from standing 10 ft away. I didn’t care much for you, your affections merely touched my curiosity. Back then, you were no different from the men that scoured for my attention. Now I stand even more broken than before. You pleaded and fought for me to open my heart. I slowly but surely allowed my arms to open wide. And I found myself pleading for you to do the same. But all I had were those golden eyes staring back at me, cold and unwavering. Now I write, unable to understand why someone like you, who’s ideology of love could be so far from your anecdote. Your tables turned over and over, but this time I was willing to lay my heart down raw and bleeding upon those tables. I looked at you with open honesty and you saw me as manipulative. You can’t see that I fell for you. Your days of trying, of waxing and waning like the moon to the seas in order to put down my shields weren’t in vain, because now that I’ve had the courage to see what others couldn’t, you had the courage to let me go.
Do you know what you’ve done? Are you happy with the throne you sit upon. You built me up to something I wasn’t. I was tired of living in the facade that you made for me. And when you showed acceptance to the little girl inside this woman, I soared.
I’ve chosen to remain in ignorance. Did those sunshine lit, rolling clouds on the beach line mean nothing to you? You taught me to toss stones. You tossed strong and well, and I sank into the ocean of your uncertainty. You held me, spun me around over the sand and rocks, picked me up and ran along the roads of our young lives. We did things that shouldn’t be said there. We escaped into the depths of your room and let the fantasies unwind. We snuck into the empty classrooms at night on the top floors. I was scared, but let none of that show, I sang my heart out as you shared me stories of your past lovers. I promised you I wouldn’t be the same, that promise I was willing to hold too. You’re golden eyes stared into mine and I think back to when you held my hands and kissed them. Our car rides, our first time, the way you played for me at the park. Did you not feel my warmth when I held you. I promised interally I wouldn’t let you go, and you told me the same thing. You’re the monster that got away. Remember, there’s no rest for the wicked.
Don’t let this craziness be in vain. You let go of somebody who was willing to sit through your insanity. This strong, proud woman would end up willing to compromise her everything, her happiness, her time to be with you. I didn’t care that you had your fits of anger, that you became a different person every couple weeks. I didn’t care that you would treated me coldly as if you didn’t remember what it was like. I wanted to accept you. I accept you. I want to be with you. How could you work so hard to open me up, only to let me bleed and rot while you walked over the things you said about our beauty. Our poetic lives only twisted and turned into convolutions which you did not hesitate to rip apart. I don’t care that you have a box full of secrets. I don’t care about the way you hurt me, I don’t care that I’m scared when I’m with you. The thrill brings me a sense of liveliness. I feel alive when I’m with you. I don’t care. I tell myself. I don’t care about you.
But I do.
So though you fucked me over, I sit at home, alone at night, wishing with what’s left of my entirety. Wishing hard for the boy who lets insanity slip into the streams of his consciousness. My baby, who’s problem of overwhelming emotions define his basic genius. For the man I loved to find complete happiness, where I could not. For his choice in tearing me open, and to be left for dead, to be the best choice he’s ever made. And I cry, because his choice was not me. But now I cry harder, knowing that I can let him go, because I did once, truly, love him.