I like to dress it up, what you did to me. I like to use pretty words to describe an ugly thing. I like to make it all seem as fictional as possible when I write about you. So I’ll say that you set fire to my skin and watched me go up in flames without blinking. I’ll say that I was struck by lightning when you kissed me and then I burned out completely when you left. I’ll say you shattered my heart and the shards got lodged everywhere (in my lungs, my bones, my veins, my fingertips and my spine). I’ll say the thorns under my skin (from the flowers that once grew inside me), kill me slowly and the poison that’s spread from them will speed up the process and I’m truly thankful. I’ll even say that when you stopped touching me, I froze over and then I disintegrated.
What I won’t say is that when I look in the mirror every day, I don’t marvel at the way I smile with all my teeth anymore. Or at the way my eyes crinkle when I smile with all my teeth. I don’t think about the fact that I don’t smile anymore. Or that I can’t even look into my own eyes. I won’t recognize the person, I think. Instead, I wonder what made you leave.
Was is it that my brown eyes were too dark? (You couldn’t see yourself in them anymore and that scared you, didn’t it?)
My arms too flabby? (You said it was more of me to love but I guess we all overestimate our ability to love sometimes.)
My stretch marks too daunting? (Did you want me stay the same so much that my growth terrified you?)
My hair too big? (You could never run your fingers through my hair without getting it tangled, anyway.)
My mind too vast? (Did my big words and big dreams not make your heart tremble like you once said it did?)
My heart too silly? (Did I love you too much? Maybe it wasn’t enough? I thought I loved you just right. You didn’t.)
My soul too stained? (Honey, but you’ve done bad things too. Why does the bloodstains on my soul intimidate you, then?)
So, I don’t say that some nights I can’t sleep and some days I can’t wake up and I don’t say that it drives me to the brink of insanity and back. I don’t say that I can’t look at anything remotely blue anymore without remembering your eyes (and the stab of pain that come after, literally sickens me). I don’t say that you’ve made me hate all of my favorite songs because I used to listen to them with you and now the beat just seems a little off and they lyrics never match. I don’t say that beautiful things hold no power over me anymore because ugly is all I can see.
And, I definitely I don’t say that the fact that humans can have this power over each other, horrifies me. I don’t say that that’s the reason why I write about you this way.
Because what you did to me is scarier than what lightning or fire or shards of a broken heart or thorns under skin or poison seeping into my body or frozen insides, can do to me.
You stopped loving me and I broke. How is that not the most terrifying thing you’ve ever heard?
