You’re not here; I’ve yet to accept that.
Your name still rings inside me. It chimes and it bellows and rises from the pit of my stomach, making me puke, as if I’m forcing myself to get you out of my veins.
It was supposed to be me and you against the world, but it was me and you against each other.
Loving you was like pulling the rubber bands back, and back, and back, until it smacked both of us in the face.
We were the Russian roulette of lust, and I’m not the one to take the blame for that bullet.
My murderer, I ask:
Have you ever felt so warm hearing a name?
When just the sound of it wakes the fire within your soul.
When you want to pick apart each letter of that name and twist it and bend it, the perfect wholeness, and gulp it down.
Murderer,
I couldn’t make your name taste bitter on my tongue as hard as I’ve tried. It’s still soaked in the sweetness of my youth, my naïve choice to be hurt by you.
Murderer,
I dropped my armor at your feet and I handed you the sword.
Murderer,
Maybe it’s not fair to say you murdered my heart, because I walked headfirst into the blade. I kept offering myself to you, like an unwanted sacrifice, offering my secrets to you like undesired gifts with ripped up recipes.
I want to say you opened my eyes but no! I, now, close my eyes and keep my heart wide open; because now I understand that falling apart when done right can make the ruins feel like home. So now we come undone, stitch by stitch, together.