I hope one day you find sunsets that hold honesty, the moon holding a glow of kindness as a reminder that you have always held those traits inside, but perhaps hid pieces away and forgot the meaning in moments you wished never happened. You should know wishes don’t come true and time cannot be wished away in the hush of waters grown rough, love, nothing stays calm forever. I once thought you were the best listener in the world, until the world spun into a flight that crashed into deaf ears. But you hear me now. You hear me in a different way, like a stranger annoyed, inconvenienced with the pain I spill because perhaps you felt some of that pain too. We poured it out in different ways publicly, but one on one we bled the same. The only difference in the blood was that mine spilled out to you, leaving no questions behind, while the truth of yours leaked slowly through words I had to read instead of hear. You squalled words in anger, not from anything I did or said, but from perceptions rooted from guilt. While I was trying to understand your silence, you answered with written words so loud and clear, I caught a fresh break to the heart. You only chalked it up to drama when it interfered with a new bloom on your horizon. You only thought my feelings to be a plead, begging and screaming like I was showcasing drama of pain self inflicted. You know that’s not true, or if you somehow can pretend not to know… I guess that’s your way of moving on. You mocked my pain, put it on display during my healing, until I took your blade and turned it on myself. Not everyone switches feelings off so easily and walks away from what we had, but you did. Turned your heart to stone, gave a dozen reasons why, until the truth poured through the cracks, and I was the last to know. I won’t be coming this way again, because your blades aimed at me keep knocking me down every time I stand. That’s self induced drama. You’ve made it more than clear that you never cared at all, so why are you still trying to rationalize our story? My pain, self pity, self induced wounds and “drama” as you call it shouldn’t affect you at all. If you’re so strong to not even flinch, then you are fooling me, because your words keep flinching beneath your own skin. You just refuse to look at them in fear you may feel. So, go… move on.. what’s stopping you? I know where my pain comes from, but I’m not sure you know yours. My tongue has never lashed out at you. I loved you with all of my heart and you felt the same. But when the audience wanted to see a show with a little blood, you caved and gave it. That’s when I knew you stopped believing in me, if you ever did anyway. That’s when I knew I was worthless to you. Yeah.. it’s not always easy to keep standing to look for my light when the one person I believed in more than anything put every single person before me, and could not even call me friend anymore. You believed a lie from someone else’s mouth and never bothered asking me about it. That was part of the show offering bloodshed I guess. Well, the show is over, bloodshed done, congratulations. Close the curtain. I’m not starring in the fictionalized storylines that pat you on the back for having to deal with such a squalling, self-induced, chaotic mess. I was never part of that play, but I’m honored that you can take my pain, and write it as though I am nothing more than a crying nutcase. Well played. If you’re finished, you can move on now and fly with someone who knows wings are used for more than plucking their own feathers. Maybe in the end, they won’t just be a chicken, walking around with their head cut off, dodging the point of your blade that bleeds with so much honesty. I’m sure it will be a beautiful soul, I know you love beautiful souls, until one day, you just don’t anymore when their feathers ruffle from your departure, and they stand there with the audacity to squall out feelings like emotional instability, plucking out perfectly good feathers. How dare someone love you and then hurt when they lose you. I know now.. it’s not allowed. It does make for magnificent storylines though, painted like a sky that never fell.
📷 Amy Judd