I stab you in the face. I strangle you to death. I slap, hit, and kick you over and over again. I blow up your house. I put water in your gas tank, and then blow up your car anyway. I steal your identity, and embarrass you when you have to have her pay for all your dates. I tie you to a chair, attach your ******* to a car battery via clamps painful on their own, and then proceed to electrocute you. I steal your dog, and she likes me better anyway. I turn your sister into a *******. I recruit four horsemen to pull you limb from limb between them. I burn you to the ******* ground, and force-feed your ashes to someone you hate, so you're always a part of them. I slice you open from taint to ******* and stuff you with cheese as rancid as your soul before sewing you back up and sealing it with a kiss. I feed you **** pie. It doesn't really matter though; my fury never dies.
What would things look like if I could press rewind? Take myself back to that moment and make sure it never happened? What would it be like, to not be naive? To know then, that you had nothing to do with me; Were just drunk on yourself? To push you away and be certain? Before feelings complicated the mix? What would it be like to have never loved you? To like myself better again, To be sure —once more— that I would never be so ******, What would it be like if I’d never met you?
Real love isn’t meant to be brutal. We perpetuate this idea that it is, because we want there to be a reason in our suffering, and we want there to be hope that the person who’s making us suffer will change, because they love us and that means they’ll get better eventually. But real love isn’t meant to brutalise us. Real love is supposed to make us feel happy and secure, and even when we fight it shouldn’t be like the world’s ending, because we should still know that the other person cares about us. It’s not a rollercoaster ride that we’re terrified of falling off of, it’s someone who makes us better. They make us feel better, and they make us want to be better people, and we want to learn and grow and change and show them our world. Love isn’t brutal, unless someone doesn’t love you enough.
And so the shoe drops, Easily, easily It’s much easier for you to wound me, than wear your human mask over lizard skin. You gnash your teeth and flail your limbs, like a ****** ******* lizard person. How hard is it to check in when you’ve said something so worrying? How hard is it to speak? Or is it just that words don’t issue, from betwixt your lizard beak?
You ask me questions, as if your curiosity itself entitled you to the answers. Secrets, which in the simple act of their existence engender in us a fierce protectiveness; We want to shelter them. answers, which before you no one even knew to ask for. “Do I think you’ll judge me for them?” you ask. And of course of course I do. But, how could that be it? Your curiosity doesn’t earn you the right of entry.