after the last autumnal rainfall has washed away the remnants of the hurtful summer past and with it, any residual feelings of want or desire for you this gloriously mixed with the diversion of my eyes and recalibration ofΒ my heart's attention i'm still left with this feeling of resentment and betrayal at your hands which once knotted so seamlessly in mine
it is from this deeply ingrained feeling that i know with crestfallen certainty that i will never call you a friend no, but you will merely be faintly etched in my memory as a blemish, a person that i trusted only to have that trust forged into a dagger and relief that i did not give you any more of myself with which you could sharpen it
it is from this realisation that i am forcedΒ to redefine the trough of this wave called love highlighting the lowest depths of emotional exploitation where you expose yourself, bearing your chest open to another, so that they can have your heart in its entirety but you encounter the true nature of another's character
a character that you may have only seen glimpses of, if anything but one that will form their final portrait in that dark unvisited corner of your mind for as long as your memory will care to retain it for the only beauty in betrayal is the subsequent clarity that it entails